


Weathered

by GhoulsArePeopleToo



Category: Fallout 3
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Past Relationship(s), Sexual Tension, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:55:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 38,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24214783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhoulsArePeopleToo/pseuds/GhoulsArePeopleToo
Summary: Originally posted as random one shots on the FKM but I've decided to build more into it since the KM has been dead for a long time now. Mentions of canon-typical non-con and a past relationship between Isadora and Butch when in the vault.
Relationships: Butch DeLoria/Female Lone Wanderer, Charon (Fallout)/Female Lone Wanderer
Comments: 34
Kudos: 71





	1. 1

She thought she knew what darkness was. When the full lights went out in the vault and the emergency lights glowed dimly, that felt like a comforting shroud to fall to sleep in. But this. This was something else. It was claws in the shadows, and small shuffles of feet coming to get her. She was lying on a relatively stain free mattress in a falling down house not far from the vault. Her first night outside. Should have been liberating, but it was actually terrifying. Anxiety bubbled in her chest and threatened to come up her throat. She tossed and turned, punching her “pillow” (actually just a balled-up spare vaultsuit) into a more comfortable shape. The beat of her heart was like a constant thump on her bones that she couldn’t escape. The moment her eyes drifted closed, a small shift in temperature or insignificant sound had her bolt upright, 10mm pistol with its four remaining bullets raised and ready. Her baseball bat was tucked in beside her. 

“This is ridiculous,” she scolded herself. A grown woman… well almost… lying terrified in a house just because there was no light.

She snuggled back down under the leather jacket Butch had shoved into her hands. Butch… the coat still smelled like him. Too much pomade and a dose of stale cigarette smoke. He tasted the same as he smelled, and she realised she’d never see him again. That thought brought some sadness, but ultimately she had bigger fish to fry than worrying about the guy she used to have a thing with. Her eyes fluttered closed slowly and she attempted to calm her erratic breathing. A boom sounded in the distance and the faraway noise of a scream soon opened her eyes wide as dinnerplates. She ached for the cold, and the soft whir of the air system in the vault. Isadora wished she could just have a few of those emergency lights in this room. Soft amber dots in the ceiling that gave a reassuring glow that said “You’re safe here. No one will hurt you while I shine”

A light. That’s what she needed. She fumbled her arm out from under the Tunnelsnakes jacket and held down the clasp that opened up her pipboy. Once it was off her wrist, she switched on the light. Harsh, white light came from the device. It wasn’t a nice warm glow, but it would do. She placed it on the decaying cabinet beside her bed and settled down, rubbing the pale ring around her wrist that it left. The room looked a lot less scary now. Well…sort of. There was still the grimy wallpaper and the blood stained mattress on the cot beside hers. But it was better than the scary space it had been in the dark. Slowly, she managed to get herself to sleep under the watchful light of the pipboy.  
From then on, she slept with her pipboy light shining every night. A watchful sentinel in the wasteland, keeping monsters and panic attacks at bay. She managed to find a bed most nights, usually in the common house of Megaton, the strange but ultimately friendly town she came across the day after she left the vault. Settlers there weren’t particularly impressed with the light, and most nights it had to be on her wrist with the light on rather than standing beside her on a table or cabinet. But she needed it. The times she tried to sleep without it, nausea and panic made her head spin and she felt that awful lightheadedness that came along with a panic attack. She swore that if someone told her she could just die when the nausea was at it’s worse, she’d happily accept. 

One exceptionally dark night, she propped up the bar in Moriarty’s, planning on staying until morning. She drank her nuka slowly, wanting to drag it out as long as possible before her next drink, otherwise Moriarty would be on at her about staying there for free. 

“You ok smoothskin?” Gob asked lowly, drying a glass with his bar rag. 

She looked at him, then back down at her hands. Cracked skin showed where callouses would form later. The sun had dried her almost olive skin to a vaguely leatherlike feel. Her nails were jagged and engrained with dirt and sand. Was she ok? She knew she had deep purple rings beneath her eyes from the bad sleep she was getting. 

“I dunno Gob,” she exhaled deeply, “I feel…” she searched for the right word, “vulnerable.” Vulnerable didn’t begin to cover it. She felt scared and small and so fucking alone. In the vault she wasn’t the most popular girl but jesus she had friends and people around her. Out here, no one. Not even her dad, who she would kill to see right now. Killing, that was another thing she was fighting to get used to. 

“I know what you mean, pal,” Gobs face was sympathetic. 

She considered him for a moment, then after ordering a whisky to go with the nuka, she asked, “Where did you come from Gob?”

He eyed Moriarty warily before answering, “A place called Underworld. It’s in the old History Museum, a whole city of ghouls.”

“Sounds awesome,” her smile was genuine. The pictures she’d glimpsed on the Overseers terminal as she left the vault had made her afraid of most of the creatures of the wasteland. But ghouls were just people, far as she could tell, although Gob had explained a couple of weeks ago the difference between them and ferals. 

Gob nodded, “It was.” Moriarty headed upstairs with some terse words about locking up aimed at Gob. Now they were more free to talk properly. 

“Tell me about Underworld, please,” Isadora bought him a nuka and he leaned on the bar as they drank.

He took a big gulp of the sugary drink, “It’s dark, and dusty. But it has lots of people and that’s what makes it OK. There’s a store, a doctor, a hotel and…well there’s a bar but you should avoid it if you’re smart as you think you are.”

She chuckled at his subtle jibe, and he gave a tiny smile before his shyness took over. “What about the people there?” she asked eagerly. It was always nice to learn about new places in the wasteland. She’d been out of the vault for ten weeks now and she still had barely explored, sticking close to either Megaton or the GNR plaza. Megaton felt like something of a home…and GNR was where she’d taken down the Behemoth. That was her best achievement so far. 

“Winthrop was a mechanic before the war, now he tinkers with random shit he finds or that Quinn brings back. Willow is a badass who honestly scares the crap out of me. She guards the front, keeping an eye on the muties and the brotherhood. Mostly they left us alone if we left them alone though,” Gob pottered around the bar, collecting glasses and the like. 

They were the only ones left in the bar now, except Nova upstairs with a customer. She could see the tension in Gobs shoulders whenever they made a noise. 

“Who else?” she asked to distract him. 

He put the glasses in the sink, “Let’s see; Tulip ran the store, cute little thing. Barrows, he’s the doctor. And Carol and Greta run the hotel. Carol, well, she’s basically like a mom to me. If you ever go, tell her I say hi and she might give you a discount. She’s the nicest person in the world. Sweet thing, but watch Greta, she’s pretty jealous when it comes to Carol. She’s Carols partner, business and…”

Is nodded, “I get it. What about this bar you mentioned? Sounds like a fun place.”

“It’s not. You stay away from there, smoothskin. Jesus I can only imagine what Azrukhal would do with you.”

“Azrukhal?” she finished her nuka. 

“The owner of the bar. He’s worse than Moriarty knows how to be. And no one dares stand up to him, not with his attack dog in the corner,” he stopped but saw Isadora’s puzzled expression, “Charon. Biggest motherfucker I’ve ever seen other than the muties. Does anything and everything Azrukhal asks. Well, orders. There’s a rumour he has some kind of contract that keeps Charon with him. Like a slave. I – I have to sympathise with him there.”

“That’s awful,” she really felt that, slavery made her stomach churn.

“Hmm. Not as awful as the stuff I’ve seen him do. Quinn swears he saw him crush a guys head with one hand over a 30 cap debt. Pretty sure he enjoys the violence anyway, only time I’ve seen him smile is when he’s fighting or killing,” Gob finished. 

“Huh,” Isadora clucked her tongue, considering this. She’d wanted to go to Underworld and meet everyone, but now she felt like she had to, to see what could be done about that situation. No one deserved to live as a slave. She’d help Gob if it wouldn’t mean being kicked out of Megaton, her only home now. 

“I know that look,” Gob scolded her gently. 

“No idea what you’re talking about…” she smiled sheepishly and he poured her another drink. 

She’d already been to the Mall, to fix the relay for ThreeDog. According to the marker Gob had put in her pipboy, it wasn’t far from there to the Museum of History. If she couldn’t free Gob, she’d do her best to free this Charon.


	2. 2

It took a couple of weeks of travelling with all her zigzagging for supplies and trying to find decent places to sleep. She was exhausted by the time she reached downtown DC, having struggled to sleep in the winter dark even with her pipboy light shining. The wind was biting cold, and the strange slushy thing that fell from the sky was like the snow she’d heard of but more ashy. She made her way across the mall, avoiding as many potshots as she could from the supermutants, but took a nasty bullet to her shoulder. It took most of her 5.56 ammo to down him, and after that she sprinted desperately in the direction of the Museum of History. Gob said they didn’t bother ghouls, she only hoped they would leave her alone too. It was as she was crouched behind the wall of the metro station, heaving for breath, that she met Willow. 

“What’s up, tourist?” the ghoul asked with a small smile.

Is swallowed, “Tourist?” 

“Sightseer, whatever. Muties giving you trouble?” 

“Huh, yeah,” Is pulled a stimpak from her bag and set about getting the bullet out of her shoulder with a combat knife. Willow watched on for a few moments, before feeling sick at how much of a butchery this smoothskin was making. 

“Let me do it, you’re gonna cut your damn arm off tourist,” she took the blade from the young girl and dug the bullet out. 

The girl flinched and bit down on her lip but didn’t cry out, just thanked Willow and injected herself before standing up straight. “You’re the vaultie aren’t ya?” Willow asked, recognising the shiny quality of a vaultdweller’s skin. 

“Isadora,” she held her hand out and Willow raised the one eyebrow she had. 

After a few beats she took the tourists hand and shook it firmly, surprised at how friendly she was being to a ghoul since she’d probably never heard of one until she crawled out of that hole. 

“This is where I’ll find Underworld, isn’t it?” Isadora asked, not noticing the hesitation on Willow’s face at the earlier touch. 

“Yeah, you’ve heard of it?” 

“My friend Gob told me about it, from Megaton,” she replied. 

Huh, Gob. Willow hadn’t heard of him since he left, but Carol had held out hope he was ok. Willow licked her lips before speaking, “You should go tell Carol you're a friend of Gob's, she'll be over the freaking moon to hear from him. Don't see too many smoothskins around here, only the ones in the big tin cans from the Brotherhood.”

Isadora didn't miss the mocking tone the ghoulette used in reference to the Brotherhood who had seemed pretty OK to her when she'd met them. She inferred from it that the Brotherhood must not be quite as friendly and welcoming when it came to the ghouls. She'd met their kind before, bigots as far as she was concerned. She struggled to imagine the blonde girl as a bigot, but first impressions can be deceiving. 

“Well I'll be sure to head in and find Carol then, thanks for the field surgery Willow,” Isadora gave a small smile and made her way into the museum and down to Underworld for the first time. 

After introducing herself to Winthrop she asked for directions to Carol & Greta's hotel. Carol was as described, a total sweetheart, and Greta was as grumpy as Is had imagined her to be. Gob's surrogate mother was so overjoyed to hear that Gob was alive that Is didn't have the heart to tell her the true nature of Gob's work, lying smoothly to keep the sweet smile on Carol's damaged face. After buying herself a pack of sugarbombs to snack on from Carol, she asked where she'd find the bar Gob had described.  
She could see the physical tension the mention of it caused in Carol's shoulders. The ghoul tried to convince her to avoid it, knowing exactly what would go through Azrukhal's disgusting mind when that fresh, buxom, girl bounced into his bar. She'd heard enough stories of Charon being ordered to grab girls, 99% of them ghouls , for Azrukhal to have as his 'guest' for the evening. She'd heard enough of those girls crying softly to themselves in one of her bedrooms before fleeing from somewhere that should have been a safe haven. Nothing was done about it, too much fear of his guard to put them off of even banding together against him. Carol had had to drag Greta back into the hotel a few times to stop her marching up there. 

Nothing seemed to be putting this girl off it though. Is had it in her mind she was going into that lions den and doing what she came here to do. With a grateful thanks to Carol for her hospitality, the girl headed up to the bar. A shambling drunk crossed her on the stairs, staring quite openly and slack jawed. Is zipped her jacket as far as it would go before hitting the swell of her chest, Butch was skinny and the jacket never fit her properly, she just felt comforted by it. Amata had made fun of her figure a couple of times under the guise of friendly ribbing, but Butch's attention had caused Is to consider that maybe it was jealousy on her 'friend's part. She stood before the doors to the Ninth Circle and hitched her jeans up higher, and her pack back onto her shoulder. Now or never kid, she thought as she pushed open the doors. 

It smelled of smoke, must and sweat. Everyone looked up when she strode in, Patchwork had come rushing in when she first entered the museum, enthusing about a pretty young smoothskin with tits as big as her head. Charon had heard it, and tensed at his post. It only really meant one thing when fresh female meat came into Underworld, and he wasn't a fan of what Azrukhals plans would be for them tonight. He glanced at her while she scanned the room. Clearly a vaultie; only they had that flawless shiny skin. Aside from her skin he could read a childhood of good nourishment in the little layer of padding she carried, similar to those curvaceous pin-ups they painted on planes when he was in the forces. As his eyes skimmed up to take in her messy brown waves that were way too long for fighting, she fixed him with a fierce dark gaze. That hair would make it way too easy for someone to wrap around their fist and drag her away and he thought for sure someone would out there if she didn't cut it soon.

Gob wasn't lying, Isadora thought as she walked over to where the ghoul stood, he really was the biggest tower of a man she had ever seen. His hulking form stood terrifyingly in the corner, and when she stood in front of him she had to tip her head back to look at him when she spoke. 

“You must be Charon” Looking down at her it was impossible not to get a view of cleavage pushed up by her leather jacket. She pronounced his name the right way, he wondered where she'd heard it.

He frowned, “Talk to Azrukhal.” His automatic line whenever anyone spoke to him, he knew it wasn't going to go down well with his 'boss' that she went to him directly. 

“Yes, but” her voice was determined but he could see how tense she was. He frightened her. 

“Talk. To. Azrukhal,” he almost growled, not missing his employer looking up from ogling her to shoot him a glare. 

Her frustration was fairly evident, but he watched as her face changed with a breath. A wicked smile spread across her round face, her eyes taking on a hooded quality. It was not uninteresting for the old ghoul to witness, and an old stirring in him told him exactly what her intention was before she turned on her heel, swaying her hips gently but deliberately as she stalked over to the bar. Charon watched with some mild interest. She slipped onto a stool gracefully, placing an arm in front of her on the bar in a practised move that seemed innocent but pressed her chest up to heave slightly over the tanktop and jacket. When she'd been bored in the vault sometimes she'd tried out some of the things she saw the bombshells do in those old movies on Butch and his friends. Sometimes it worked and sometimes it didn't, but she took to it like a hobby trying to learn what worked on who etc and got better at it as she went on. It served her well when she needed it to out here, she'd found out and ramped it up using her charisma wherever she saw a benefit to be had, drawing from old romance novels about seductresses and the helpless men they used.

Azrukhal sidled over to where she sat and she ordered a nuka with a straw, taking care that he saw as she slipped the tip between her lips but also that it seemed absent-minded. He did notice, and she knew it, sucking deeply before sitting back with a coy smile, “Thank you, I needed that.”

“Anything else you need, an itch I might be able to scratch for you?” the lecherous older ghoul asked. Her skin crawled, but she didn't show it for a moment. She felt the gaze of Charon a couple of times, no doubt watching her for any sign of threat to his employer. 

She ran a hand through her hair, shaking it out over her shoulder, “I don't know, I'm just looking for someone to keep me safe I guess. I only came out of the vault a few weeks ago” Untrue, it had been 3 months.

“I never would have guessed,” a sick smile spread across Azrukhal's face, and she quirked an eyebrow at him. 

“Know where I can find someone like your bouncer over there?” Is gestured with her head to Charon. 

Azrukhal's eyes narrowed a little, now suspicious, and Is didn't know if she'd overestimated her feminine whiles working on a wily old man like him. She took the straw between her lips now and looked into his eyes as innocently as possible. Muddy brown with the usual film of milky white. “Sharon... my employee is one of a kind,” he rolled the name into a feminine pronunciation and it took a lot of will power not to roll her eyes, “He is extremely loyal”

She fluttered her lashes a little, “How do you keep him so loyal? Keeping a man loyal is pretty difficult you know.”

“I'm sure a lovely creature like you doesn't have trouble with that,” Azrukhals fingers inched closer to her delicate wrist. He so looked forward to Charon dragging this one into the back room tonight, it's been so long since he's felt smooth flesh. 

A girlish giggle came from her lips, “But seriously, how do you keep him so loyal?” 

He blew air through his nose, thinking for a moment before deciding what the hell? “Sharon had some very special training, you could call it brainwashing I suppose, now he is completely loyal to the one who holds his contract.”

Is did her best to keep her revulsion off her face when a rough finger shuffled its way along her hand, not an issue with ghouls but just this one in particular. She busied her hand by pushing a strand of hair behind her ear, “Is that a contract you might be willing to sell? To a damsel in distress trying to find her way in this mean world?” She ran her tongue along her bottom lip deliberately ignoring his gaze on her cleavage.

“Ordinarily sugar, I would say I couldn't possibly do without my loyal bodyguard. But a gentleman couldn't possibly feel right about himself if he let a delicate flower like you out there with no protection,” Azrukhal studied the girl's golden skin where her collarbone met the column of her throat. 

She gave him a bright smile, “What do you want from me, Azrukhal.”

The way she purred his name almost made him lose his head, almost. He'd been doing this long enough to see through a bit of flirtation, effective as she may be, “2000 caps and Charon is yours.”

He didn't miss the flicker of emotion across the big brown eyes, more than she had and he knew it. Isadora had 443 caps, and immediately she was thinking of ways to make that kind of money. She hazarded a glance back at the imposing ghoul, a slave but she hadn't said it directly to Azrukhal for fear of angering him out of dealing with her. 

“Or we could come to some kind of an arrangement,” he rasped at her, wondering where this could go. If he could get her in bed with the promise of the contract it would be more than easy to holdout until her payment was made and then Charon could take care of the loose end. 

“A trade of some kind?” she asked a little warily, her attempt at seduction slipping away. She would not pay this man in kind, just the thought of his cruel face staring down at her was enough to dry her up faster than mirelurk jerky in the sun, 'I'm not that kind of girl, Azrukhal.”

He rolled his eyes, oh well it didn't really matter if it happened under coercion or any other circumstance, tonight she'd be in his bed anyway, “Then you'd better find 2000 caps sugar.” 

Charon watched this whole exchange, unable to hear what was being whispered but the girl was good, he'd give her that if what movement he could see was any indication. A couple of the drunks at the end of the bar were openly watching in rapture, but he knew Azrukhal was a hard bastard and while he'd enjoy the flirtation he wouldn't be won over this easy for whatever she was after. 

“Looks like I'd better get out and find some work, huh,” the vaultie dropped a few caps on the bar top for her drink. 

She tried to look effortless and alluring as she hopped off the bar stool and turned toward the door, but her shoulders were tight with frustration Charon noted. The minute she walked out the door he would be waved over to the bar and given his order to bring her in later. He rolled his jaw, irked that she'd come in and caused him this problem. He'd done it plenty of times, and been ordered to do much worse but that didn't mean he didn't prefer to stay just leaning on a wall. As she passed, she met his glare and mouthed so quickly he almost missed it, “I'll be back for you.” 

Her earnest expression caught him off guard, and by the time she was out the door he made a decision. Without looking at Azrukhal and ignoring the burning feeling of his glare on the back of his head, he strode over to the other door out of the bar, grunting sharply, “Taking a piss.”

Azrukhal seethed, since when did that asshole choose to take breaks? That would not go unpunished and Charon knew it. Nausea crept up his throat as it always did when he did anything vaguely disobedient. He breathed deeply, before going in search of the girl. Everyone stared at him whenever he left the bar, worried who he was on the hunt for. He heard a whisper asking where Patchwork was and what he'd done to upset Azrukhal. Is was just heading out of Doc Barrow's office with a fresh supply of stimpaks, when she felt a shadow cast across her face. She looked up, fear gnawing at her stomach when she looked directly into the milky blue eyes of the massive ghoul. 

“Get out of Underworld. Now,” a growled command, “Don't return.”

She swallowed thickly, “Is that a threat?” If it was, she didn't know what she planned to do about it, his hands could crush her skull before she even got her pistol out. 

He needed to get back, Azrukhal was already going to lose his shit, he didn't want to make it worse, “For your own safety, I'm warning you to leave.” His eyes almost looked imploring she thought. 

All she could do was nod in answer, not sure what exactly she was agreeing to but wanting him to stop looming over her like that. He inclined his chin in what could pass for a nod back, before marching away. His words had frightened her, but not so much in that she felt threatened but more like he was letting her know she was in danger. She looked around at the couple of ghouls who had watched the exchange wide eyed, but they immediately averted their eyes and busied themselves. Is hurried to pack away her purchases and dropped her chin into her chest, making a speedy exit from the place. 

Outside it was dark and her stomach twisted just slightly, she'd planned on staying at Carol's hotel tonight, now she had to find somewhere to camp again. She caught Willow staring at her with some interest and gave her a quick nod before hurrying away trying to keep her head down and undetected by the mutants nearby.

Charon steeled himself as he re-entered the bar. Azrukhal crooked a gnarled finger at him and the calm expression on his ruined face betrayed none of his anger. The massive ghoul went over, standing tall, “Yes master.”

“Age must be making you daring Sharon. I hope you enjoyed your break because that's the last one you'll be having for a very long time.” A dismissive wave in the direction of Charon's usual post. Maybe Azrukhal had a point, but he didn't feel so bold now the consequences were laid out.He'd been starved and deprived plenty in the past. His training meant he could operate on little to no sleep, food or water; he would silently endure the pain until he died if he had to. He turned to take up his guard before Azrukhal rasped one more command.

“After closing I expect you to scour Underworld for that girl and bring her here, and I expect you to keep her nice and quiet about it too.”

Charon hoped he'd frightened her enough to leave, just to spite the old bastard. He hadn't really thought about his employers anger when he came back emptyhanded. 

Isadora had finally managed to find a fox-hole, almost literally. She'd had to drop in from the floor above into a very enclosed part of a collapsed office. It felt about as safe as she was going to find, and she quickly busied herself settling down for sleep. She lay extremely uncomfortable on the rotted wood floor, illuminated by her trusty pipboy light which she hoped no-one would be able to see from her concrete cocoon. What exactly had Charon been warning her against? She didn't know, but felt like he'd been doing her some kind of a massive favour. The gesture couldn't go unanswered, she thought as she curled an arm under her head. It might take a while but she felt more determined to get the caps together and free him of that contract. The brainwashing was interesting, and she fell to sleep considering what that entailed. In Underworld, the residents watched as Charon stalked the entirety, most of them knew exactly what he was looking for but didn't know that he wasn't frustrated when he didn't find her.


	3. 3

It was 5- maybe 6- days before she stormed triumphantly back into the bar. His knees ached considerably, having carried his weight almost unmoving since the night she left. The hollow ache in his stomach was only just properly starting, but his hand still went to his shotgun on his back when someone burst through the doors. She didn't look at him, but he recognised her under the blood and grime and was annoyed that she'd come back. Isadora strutted over to the bar, the exaggerated sway of her hips from the first time all gone. 

“Ah my smoothskinned friend has returned, you left in a hurry last time didn't you,” Azrukhal studied her. A fresh cut marred her chin, and blood stained her armoured vaultsuit. 

“Just wanted to get straight onto that work,” the corner of her mouth turned up but she winced when it stretched the wound on her chin. 

Where his eyebrows had been rose at that, “And how did you do?” 

She dug in her pack before dumping a large bag heaving with caps on the bar, “2000. Count it if you like.”

“You seem trustworthy,” Azrukhal frowned, now he had to make good on the deal. He never expected her to actually raise the funds. He could order Charon to march her out he supposed, but now he wasn't sure it was worth the hassle. Maybe it was time to part ways, the old soldier seemed to be getting ornery this week. 

Is watched the barman scoop the bag of caps off the bartop and disappear out back. Suddenly she felt silly, he could lock those caps away now and never hand over the contract. But surprisingly he returned with a scrap of very old paper. Charon watched all of this, his exhaustion making his brain foggy, what exactly was happening here? Azrukhal handed the paper to the girl and Charon may have recognised it if he hadn't been too focussed on keeping himself upright. The old ghoul stared at Charon over the girls head when she hopped off the stool. Her steps almost bounced with pride as she walked over to Charon. 

“Talk to -” his voice was even more hoarse than usual but she cut him off.

Her big brown eyes were wide when she looked up at him, eye contact was not something he was used to getting for at least 80 years, “Wait a second...” She produced the paper Azrukhal had handed her at the bar. This close it was unmistakable to Charon, with it's red scrawl detailing all of his dehumanization before his skin had even started to peel off. It took his worn out brain a moment to realise what this meant. 

“Charon, I've purchased your contract from Azrukhal, you're free,” she smiled. She'd freed a few slaves so far and it gave her a warm feeling, their gratitude usually bringing a tear to her eye. Charon however just rolled his jaw in thought, focussing on the gash he could see below her lip. 

“You are my new employer?” he already knew what he wanted to do. She went to open her mouth and correct him, she didn't plan to employ him she just wanted to free him, but he was already stepping around her. 

“There is something I must do,” he ignored the angry cracking of his old knees as they got their first real use for 5 days, advancing on his now ex-employer.

Azrukhal looked up at him with that smarmy way he had, “Well well, Sharon, here for your tearful goodbye after 70 good years?”

The self-satisfied grin fell from his features when Charon pulled his shotgun off his back and unloaded it directly into Azrukhals face, “72.”

Any occupants of the bar fell over themselves to clear out. 

He straightened, the muscles and bones in his shoulders popping and cracking, and the girl was at his side. What would her opinion of this be, he wondered. She nimbly stepped over the pool of Azrukhals blood, seemingly unfazed by the gore and retrieved a key from his pocket. “You done?” she asked without looking at him. 

Evidently nonplussed, he hadn't expected that, “Azrukhal was an evil bastard. Now for good or ill, I serve you.” 

She just went through from the bar and used the stolen key to open the safe when she located it, “You don't serve me Charon, you're gonna take 1000 caps off me now and go live your life. Not like he needs it anymore”

He frowned, and when she returned from the back room drawing the string closed on her pack he answered her, “That is not possible, mistress. I serve the contract holder.”

“I'm the contract holder, and I'm telling you to be free,” she held out a bag of caps to him but he made no move to take it, “And don't call me mistress, it's Isadora.”

His brain had worked out what she was trying to say when she lifted his wrist, dropping the bag in his open hand. The touch felt indescribably strange, he couldn't remember the last time someone touched him in anything other than aggression. It did nothing more than make him anxious, “I cannot be free.”

Isadora let the bag go but watched as Charon didn't move an inch, just holding out the bag on an open palm, “Take your contract then, be your own boss. I just couldn't stand you being a slave, and after a quick chat with Carol I now know I owe you a debt,” her look was hard then,” Consider it paid.”

“I cannot hold my own contract,” he said in his same monotone voice, still holding the bag out even though Is knew it must be heavy. 

He surprised her when he hissed and stepped back as she placed the contract on his hand too. Like it had burnt him when it touched his flesh, “Jeeze, sorry!” she gasped and scooped it back up out of his hand.

“I cannot be freed, I serve you now,” he replied almost robotically. 

She was about to answer him when some people peeped around the door to the bar, “We'll work this out, just not here. Grab your things and meet me at Carols.” Is turned to exit and when she saw him following closely she turned, “You need to get your things Charon unless you want to stay here?”

Charon pulled his shotgun into view with the hand that wasn't still holding out the bag of caps and gave her a sardonic look.

“That's all you have?” her heart broke a little for him in that moment. 

“It is all I require,” he almost shrugged, wary of the locals now watching them with interest. 

“Come on then, I guess,” she sighed.


	4. 4

The girl took up two rooms in the hotel, Carol openly staring at him hulking behind her. When she had paid she turned to him then giggled a little realising he was still holding the bag of caps outstretched like it offended him, “You don't have to hold them out, I'll put them in my pack but they're yours.” 

He handed them to her, flexing his hand gratefully. He could smell mirelurk cakes and despite himself his stomach rumbled. Again, the girl giggled, “Yeah I'm hungry too. Carol can we get some dinner and a couple of Nukas?”

Isadora situated herself at a table and he went to stand behind her seat, watchful but she grabbed his arm, “Sit down silly. You'll make me look like a loser with no friends.” She felt his flinch when she touched him though, “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable when I touched you. I've always been way too tactile.” He studied her face as he sat down awkwardly, she looked embarassed.

“My comfort is not your concern,” he replied automatically, and she frowned. 

“So that's a yes, I won't do it again,” she gratefully took the nukas from Carol when she came over then pushed one across the table to him. 

Beads of condensation travelled down the glass and Charon's throat constricted. He had no real issue with being touched, it was just a surprise, but it meant nothing to him if she decided not to anymore. He was surprised she had in the first place, not many smoothskins out there touching ghouls. The girl was watching him, “To you,” she clinked her bottle on the one in front of him. He watched her drink from it and his thirst burned.

“You don't talk much do you? At least have a drink with me, and some dinner, you don't have to talk if you don't want,” she sighed, obviously a little deflated. 

He took the bottle in his hand and downed pretty much the entirety of it, almost moaning at the hydration, “If that is what you wish Mistress.”

“Don't call me that,” she grimaced but was soon distracted by the plate of food placed in front of her, an identical one put in front of him. He watched her as she ate, blood spattered and grimy but wolfing down mirelurk cakes and instamash. She had ordered him to eat he supposed, and gingerly took a mouthful. It was good, he mused and wasn't sure what the last thing he ate was. 

“Will you judge me if I get more?” she said conspiratorially as though they were school yard friends.

Charon shrugged and she sighed but went to ask Carol for seconds, turning to watch Charon eat while she waited. Every time she freed someone they were overcome with gratitude, babbling and hugging and excited to start a new life. He was none of those things. He watched her like a wounded defensive animal, and she didn't know what to do with him. If he really can't be freed, what then? She didn't want to be a slaveowner. Carol jolted her out of her observation, which Charon was watching out of the corner of his eye. What did she want? 

Isadora got herself back into her seat next to him and scraped a mirelurk cake onto his plate, “You must need more food than that, you're huge. How tall are you? I've never seen anyone as tall as you.”

He swallowed his mouthful of food, “7 feet I think, might be 7”2? Haven't been measured for 200 years.” 

Her eyes went wide, he noted, “You're pre-war?”

Charon nodded with a grunt, and she could barely contain her fascination, “Wow! What did you do before the war? Basketball player?” 

A snort of what could have been laughter came from her companion and she glowed at him getting her joke, “No, I was a soldier. How does a kid now know anything about Basketball?” 

“Read about it in a book in the vault, it said the players were all super tall. The tallest person in the vault was Jonas but he would have looked tiny next to you,” suddenly she went quiet. Tears pricked at the thought of Jonas and his blood seeping into her vaultsuit. She burned it the morning after leaving the vault, never planning on wearing another vault suit until Moira handed her the armoured one that she only wore out of needing the protection. 

Once she had finished the last of her plate, “Look, what is the deal with your contract? No loopholes? I can't keep you like a slave.”

He huffed at that, never a fan of being called a slave but knowing full well that's what he was, “It's all on the contract.”

She pulled it out of her breast pocket and studied it. There wasn't tons of writing, but the basics were that he would follow the orders of his contract holder to the letter, physical violence from the contract holder voided the contract, and he could not under any circumstance hold his own contract. In the event of the destruction of his contract he was to terminate. She gulped. 

“You really can't be freed can you?” her eyes were sad when she made eye contact with him. 

He looked away quickly, irritably replying, “No. I serve the contract holder.”

“I...” but she didn't know what to say. Sure, she'd freed him from a piece of shit like Azrukhal but now what? He sat beside her now finished eating, not wanting to admit he was still starving. As if she read his mind, she got up then returned with some snack cakes and two more nukas. This time when she placed them in front of him he dug straight in, earning a smile from her. 

Once they'd eaten she stretched exaggeratedly, letting out a small squeak that made him jump, “I need a shower, I've been knee deep in raider guts for days.” The easiest way to raise the caps had been taking rescue jobs for the rewards. 

She thought nothing of the flimsy lock on the shower door when she went in but Charon knew exactly how little force they took and took up sentry outside while she languidly enjoyed the lukewarm water. When she came out with dripping wet hair she nearly jumped out of her skin at the sight of him. He looked down at her, “It is my job to protect you.” 

“I was only taking a shower, you could have just relaxed,” she dragged a hairbrush through her knotted hair with a couple of winces. Her vaultsuit was tied around her waist and he could see scars across her shoulders around the straps of her tanktop. Did she know how vulnerable she was wandering around here with all that flesh on show? It took a moment to remember that the only real danger to her had been Azrukhal... and him he supposed by extension. A cold thought but not one he was unaccustomed to. 

“I keep you safe, that is my purpose,” he shrugged, the back of his neck prickling with the gaze of a few locals. 

Greta was on the desk at the hotel when they returned and she quirked a non-existent eyebrow at him when she saw the pair walk in. Isadora directed him to the cubicle next to hers, designated as his room tonight apparently. He went in awkwardly to a space not really big enough for him, but he was glad of a bed. It was legend around Underworld he didn't need to sleep, but that's just because no one saw him do it. He needed sleep same as anyone else, but he could function without it for days at a time thanks to the shock therapy. He could hear the smoothskin moving about in her 'room' next to him. He kicked off his boots, wiggling his toes for the first time in a long time and lay heavily on the bed, shotgun across his chest. Ready at a moments notice to spring up and defend his employer. 

The springs of the mattress in her room squeaked and he knew she was settling down. The lights in the hotel dimmed, they were the only occupants tonight. He thought he heard her breathe a sigh of relief. Is lay in the bed and couldn't contain her pleasure at the lights only dimming and not going off completely. She'd heard him get into bed moments earlier but she couldn't sleep. He seemed set on keeping her safe. Maybe it would be nice to have him around for backup. Not as a slave... but she had no idea how to make this work and keep her conscience clear.

“Charon” she whispered.

He was alert in moments, gun tight in his grip, “Mistress?”

“Don't call me that. Are you decent?” she asked. 

His brow furrowed at that, “What?”

“Are you dressed,” she chuckled.

“Of course,” he answered and her face appeared around the curtain between their rooms. 

“Sorry, thought I'd better check. Hope you don't mind,” her hair was a damp mess in a braid.

Charon looked at her searchingly, “Did you need something?”

“I need a bodyguard. Would you be open to an arrangement like that?”

“I do what my contract holder orders,” a robotic answer. Why is she asking his opinion, just point and he'll hurt it. Or whatever else she asks.

She chewed the skin inside her cheek, a nervous habit, “Will you travel with me, keep me safe? Teach me how to survive? I've managed so far but I feel like I have loads to learn. I want to treat you right, not like a slave.”

He searched her face, why was she asking him when it was quite clearly not his choice. Charon didn't know what she was going to be like, he'd had a few contract holders and they'd all been sick in their own ways. Came with the territory of wanting a leashed attack dog he thought. She didn't seem like that, although there was time. 

“I will protect and teach you, if that is what you wish,” he answered.

Isadora grinned at him, “Get some sleep, tomorrow I start learning.”

He nodded and her face disappeared again, curtain snapping back in place. He'd never had a contract holder this young before; was the excited chatter going to become a theme he wondered, hoping not. Once he could hear that she had fallen asleep he allowed himself to drift off into dreamless rest as always.


	5. 5

Charon woke in the morning to quiet humming from the room next to his. He lay for a moment, the sound taking him back to before the war. His mother had done it, so had Ann. That thought snapped him out of it and he rose, mechanically putting his boots back on and then pushing aside the partition. He recalled the advice he'd given a young soldier before his 'training' about pushing aside all thoughts of loved ones in war. Isadora emerged a beat or two after him, hair down and wavy from the braid. Messy, she thought as she pushed it off her face. 

“Morning,” she gave him a smile, feeling the best rested she had in a while thanks to the dimmed lights. 

A noise came from him which she took as a return of her greeting, “Breakfast?”

He just looked at her, “Whatever you wish.”

She frowned but dragged her pack over to the table they'd sat at the night before, he followed and took a seat when she nodded towards it, “I dunno about you but I'm craving Sugar Bombs. You cool with that?”

Charon almost shrugged but stopped himself not wanting to seem disrespectful, “I have no preference.”

Isadora could almost see the constant cogs turning in his head, she assumed he was weighing her up against previous 'employers'. She recalled what Azrukhal had said about not taking his silence as unintelligence, and mused over this as she bought their breakfasts and put a box in front of him. He waited until she had opened hers and started eating before he reached for his. They ate wordlessly for a while with just the sound of their crunching and Carol wiping around with a rag.

“So,” she began finally after psyching herself up to break their silence, “your contract.”

His eyes bored into the side of her head with his mouth mid-chew but he nodded for her to continue. She'd hoped he might be a bit more chatty after some sleep, nothing to be done about it though. 

“Far as I can tell, I have no way to free you.”

“That is correct,” he picked up the bottle of water she had also placed in front of him and opened it. 

She watched his throat move as he drank deeply trying to think of what to say next, and he watched her eyeing him. He thought she seemed fairly comfortable with ghouls from her interactions with the residents of Underworld, that he had seen anyway. Was it disgust or morbid curiosity that had her looking at him directly rather than averting her eyes as most smoothskins did? 

“And if I can't free you, that makes me your employer. I'm guessing not every one of your employers have been nice to you?” she stopped looking at him now and focussed on her food.

He gave a non-committal grunt, waiting for her to continue as he crunched a mouthful of sugary cereal.

“I want to do right by you, Charon. But I'm not 100% how to do that. You agreed last night to keep me safe and teach me what to do. I want you to speak freely to me, tell me when I do something wrong or when I need to shut up,” her laugh was the kind of thing you expected to come out of a middle-aged maneater he thought, filthy no matter the context of what she was laughing at. He didn't know it had started off as imitation and had slowly morphed into her actual laugh.

“Telling me when to shut up will probably take up most of your time, I have a tendency to ramble,” she turned a wide smile to him and he averted his eyes, no longer sure what to do when someone smiled at him other than the smile Azrukhal got when he had some torture in mind for someone or other. 

“Are you happy for me to hold your contract on that basis? I'll pay you if you want,” she had that same earnest expression she'd used the first time he saw her. The one that made him find a loophole and warn her about Azrukhal. 

He recognised what she was trying to do, and he did appreciate it even if he didn't wholly trust it. Charon rolled his jaw, “OK.”

She gave him that grin again and again he averted his gaze, instead eyeing her hair with concern. How had she not already learned her lesson about it? Isadora found where his eyes had fallen, a pet peeve of hers being lack of eye contact. 

“Charon? Why don't you look me in the eye?” she asked.

The massive ghouls eyes then snapped to hers whether she'd ordered him to or not, and he thought about how to answer. Because you're my superior. Because eye contact with a smoothskin makes me extremely uncomfortable. Because I don't know what you want from me. She was still holding his milky blue gaze waiting for an answer. He shifted his shoulders and exhaled, “You want me to tell you something you can do to stay safe?”

Her head titled to the side slightly, “Yes. Do you have a suggestion already? Am I that helpless looking?”

He shook his head, “Your hair is too long. Someone could grab hold of it and you'd be vulnerable.”

“I tie it up when I'm out there,” her hand instinctively went to her hair. She'd always loved her hair in the vault, curling it carefully and letting Butch trim and primp it whenever he felt the need. It was getting considerably longer than her usual shoulder length though she did have to admit. 

“Still easy to grab,” he finished his bottle of water, looking at her out of the corner of her eye as she toyed with the ends of her hair, unconsciously twisting it around itself. 

It surprised him when she got to her feet decisively and swung her pack onto her shoulder, “Better go see Snowflake then.”

Without word he followed her up to the old hairdresser and watched as she had at least 8 inches snipped off. Snowflake didn't seem too comfortable with how closely Charon watched him with the scissors near his employer but his job was to protect this smoothskin so he paid no mind. He was used to people being uncomfortable in his company. What he was taken aback by was the girl just following his advice straight away, and she now stood before him with her hair in a fresh sharp style that came just past her jawline. He couldn't remember the last time he was asked for advice, much less the last time it was heeded.

“Better?” she asked him after she paid Snowflake a handsome tip. 

Charon raised an eyebrow at this, in the space of a day he went from breaking barfly's fingers to approving hairstyles. He just inclined his chin and watched as she gazed wistfully back at the hair Snowflake was sweeping up. 

“OK. Let's go stock up with Tulip and head out,” she strode past him and through the doors, “And if you have any other suggestions I'm all ears. I meant what I said, speak freely with me Charon.”

He didn't bother replying or even nodding, just followed her down to the trader and waited as she purchased a pack for him, ammo and other supplies. After a warm goodbye to Tulip, she exited and he followed, stopping at a bench in the middle of the concourse to lay out their supplies before they distributed them evenly in their backpacks. He would have preferred to take the heavier load and did mention something to this effect but she just waved him off. The residents of Underworld all seemed extremely interested in their partnership, watching with open fascination as she chattered to him while they packed their bags. She paid no mind, and he noticed he hadn't seen his contract in any of the items they laid out. She must have that stored somewhere on her person he concluded. Finally they were all sorted and made their way out of Underworld. Isadora shouted a farewell to Willow who caught Charon's eye with a quirked eyebrow, or where one would have been anyway. He just huffed and scanned the horizon where the mutants were lurking, keeping tabs on where the smoothskin was too.

Willow flicked ash off her cigarette, “Have fun you two.” She'd been filled in on what had happened the night before with Azrukhal of course and watched as they marched away. The girl who wasn't exactly tiny still looked dwarfed by the massive ghoul following a step behind her with his shotgun in hand. Odd pair, she shrugged but in her head she wished them luck.


	6. 6

Over the next several days Isadora found it more reassuring than she'd realised she would having Charon watching her 6. He for his part was fairly impressed by her skill with her 5.56 rifle, there were definitely things they could improve but he now understood how she'd kept herself alive for the weeks she'd been out here alone. It wasn't long before he was proven right about her hair; when a raider had managed to surprise her and get into close quarters. Had her hair been longer he would definitely have had hold of it in the initial struggle, but as it was she was able to crack him across the face with the butt of her rifle in her left hand and pull her pistol from her hip with her right and get him directly in the face. Charon had already finished his own opponent off with his combat knife and watched the whole thing unfold. She stood with her back to him, both guns raised and he furrowed his brow. Most vaulties he'd come across in his time had not been particularly skilled in combat, a side effect of not being threatened and safely riding out the nuclear apocalypse. 

Isadora had turned to him, chest heaving from the effort and a bead of blood running down her forehead. She slipped her 10mm back in its holster and blew a strand of hair out of her face, “What?”

He didn't realise he was staring until she addressed him and took a breath, “I'm impressed. Where does a vault dweller get that kind of strength?” 

Something ghosted across her face and she chewed at the inside of her cheek, “Dad did some... experiments in the vault. They weren't painful, just enhanced some stuff.”

Charon thought of the experiments performed on him 200 years ago, they certainly hadn't been pain free. “What kind of enhancements?”

“I... just some stuff to help me survive I guess. I think somewhere deep down he was planning on me being out here at some point and was preparing me. Like, Yao Guai leave me be but Deathclaws don't. Something to do with pheromones I think.” she looked uncomfortable, avoiding his gaze as she looted the corpses.

“So you smell like a Yao Guai?” Charon deadpanned before wincing internally at the thought he may offend her and bring her ire. She'd told him to speak freely but picking fun at her may be overstepping the mark. It took her a moment before she looked over her shoulder at him. 

A wide grin split her face and she let out that dirty laugh, “Very funny big guy. Although probably true of both of us after days out here. I was thinking we could head to Megaton, I think I've cracked their bomb problem and I want to try it out. Cool with you?”

“As you wish,” he answered when she straightened up. It was starting to get dark he thought, and like she read his mind she said as much to him. 

She asked him to scout a good spot for camping, trusting his tactical skills more than her own. The only problem thus far had been that Charon liked there to be some visibility as well as cover and visibility meant she couldn't have her pipboy light on. Sleeping with a nightlight, she shook her head at herself as she followed her companion; Butch would have teased her mercilessly if he'd known this was what she did now. The lack of the pipboy light just meant her sleep was coming in fitful bursts and she woke up not feeling much better rested. If possible she'd insisted on taking the watch at the nights darkest before sleeping as the sun came up. Charon had of course noticed her waking up with a gasp repeatedly, he just hadn't mentioned it. Her panic was clear on her face before she oriented herself.

Lost in her own thoughts, she hadn't noticed he'd stopped and bumped into his arm with an oof. He looked down at her before what could have been an eyeroll. She had the childish urge to stick her tongue out at him.

“Looks like the best place we're going to find,” he told her, inclining his head toward some fallen freeway. It's crumbling asphalt and rebar had created a wonky triangular area under cover with old burnt out cars making a decent enough barrier. She frowned, and he didn't know why but didn't ask instead assuming it just wasn't her first choice. He'd seen her reluctance at every place he'd chosen for camps since they'd been travelling together but she still asked his advice each evening. 

“Sure,” she shrugged slightly, hitching her pack up her shoulder further and picking her way into the covered area.

As he followed her he realised it was smaller than it appeared, probably fine for people of average height but his frame would put them closer together than they'd been before. If she came to the same conclusion she never gave any indication, instead dropping her pack and starting to dig through for supplies for a fire. 

He followed suit, unrolling the bedroll she'd bought him from Tulip. Too short but better than nothing in this cold winter he thought, and rolled it out against the wall so as to give her as much space as possible. She paid him no mind as she rolled hers out perpendicular to his, leaving a space by their feet for a fire to cook dinner. They had the beginnings of a routine in her mind, when setting up camp. She made a fire and cooked for them, which was what she busied herself with doing now. He placed a couple of frag mines out between the cars far enough away from their shelter not to pose them any real harm but close enough to alert them to someone's presence. 

Isadora was pulling bottled water out of her bag when he returned, ducked down to avoid his head hitting on the concrete. She studied them for a moment before throwing him a bottle and chugging deeply from the remaining one. Charon caught his and looked at it, a realisation that she was always giving him Dirty Water dawning on him. It was cheaper and surplus he supposed, and did him no harm so she probably just offloaded it that way. He drank from it and settled himself on his bedroll, taking out a rag to clean his shotgun. She hummed as she got a pot of Blamco Mac & Cheese on to boil and he wondered absently why she hummed rather than singing. What he didn't know was Isadora had an awful singing voice that Butch and the rest of the gang had taunted her for mercilessly, slowly evolving into friendly ribbing as she and Butch grew closer and she and Amata drifted apart.

She stirred the pot of unnaturally yellow pasta as she contemplated her ideas for the bomb in Megaton. She didn't want to upset the Children of Atom, they seemed harmless enough and reminded her of an old christian couple in the vault. But the bomb was almost literally a ticking time bomb and she liked the town, with the exception of Moriarty and sometimes Jericho when he got a bit ornery. Charon drew her attention when he blew into something on his shotgun, he cleaned it whenever there was the time for it she'd noticed. He also had a combat knife in his boot just in case, she'd seen him use that. So far they'd made a pretty good team she thought as she watched his large hands working away at a task he must have done so much he didn't even have to look any more. His skin was mostly gone from his hands she noted, red and purple tendons and veins roped together and visible on his fingers. 

“Soups up,” she handed him a bowl of dinner with a grin. 

He took it with a nod of thanks, putting his shotgun to the side.

“Hey Charon, you think you could teach me about cleaning my gun?” she asked after a mouthful of macaroni. 

Charon looked at her over his bowl, “Sure. But how have you been doing it so far?”

The sheepish look on her face told him before she answered, “I haven't.”

He shook his head and finished his mouthful before speaking, “How the fuck have you survived this long?”

She still got a bit of a naughty child feeling when she was involved in conversations with swearing. It was something she hadn't done a lot of in the vault, but it was common place out here. Maybe she should try it, she thought, “Just dumb fucking luck.”  
It sounded silly to her the first time, forced. Maybe it wasn't for her. 

“You got that right,” he shook his head again, “Here, pass me your rifle I'll clean it while you take the first rest.”

Isadora's eyes went wider than she meant them to before she composed her face, “Oh... you don't have to do that I'll take the first watch.”

The dark was clawing at her already, surrounding her. Choking her. Charon frowned and looked her in the eye, something he'd made a conscious effort to do since she expressed displeasure at his avoidance of it back in Underworld. Dark shadows ringed her eyes, the spark they'd had in Carol's hotel had dulled and she looked tired as all hell. 

“You look like shit, you need to sleep or you'll be useless in a fight,” he said, exercising his new found right to speak his mind. This came under the umbrella of survival advice in his head. 

She couldn't help but give a bark of humourless laughter at that, “Gee big guy, you know how to sweet talk a girl huh.” but her hand ghosted up to her face like it could feel the bad nights of sleep on her skin.

He shrugged, “You told me to speak freely. If you wish me not to then just order it.”

“I'm just giving you shit,” she crossed her eyes at him and he felt the urge to laugh for a moment. She wasn't about to order him to do or not do anything, so she relented and when they'd finished their meal she handed him her rifle obediently and settled down for sleep facing away from him. 

Charon gave a disgusted grunt as he assessed the mess her rifle was in. He stripped it down to its components, the only way he was ever going to get this gun looking half decent was to start from scratch. Cleaning his gun had always been his only real pleasure for the last two centuries, something he could be permitted to do without any argument from employers and he was left alone to do it generally. 

“Surprised this thing hasn't blown her hands off,” he grumbled below his breath as he tackled first the firing mechanism. Her breathing had slowed and deepened by the time he was onto the barrel, a sign she was asleep, confirmed when she rolled over in her sleep and he could see her eyes closed restfully.

He stayed there, alert but focused on the task at hand for maybe an hour or so before a burst of gunfire made his head whip round and she gave a loud gasp, stirring in her sleep. It was distant enough that he was satisfied it posed no immediate threat to them. He heard her shifting around in her sleeping bag, glancing down to her and noticing she'd flung her arm out when she'd been startled. Her fingers rested on the grip of his shotgun now, discarded within his reach but between their bedrolls. She gave a small sigh and seemed to drift back off easily, settling now on her stomach with one arm under her head and the other out, her hand laid over the butt of his gun. He huffed but didn't move her away from it, not wanting to wake her when she was so obviously exhausted. Instead he went back to reassembling her gun, rubbing his thumb along the name she'd carved into it with a knife one night out of boredom - “Marilyn” He wondered who Marilyn was to this girl as he clicked all the parts back into place.


	7. 7

Charon watched as the girl took a bottle of purified water from her pack when the gates of Megaton came into view. She handed it to the beggar on the ground with a smile and a few kind words. Maybe he wasn't the only charity case she'd taken on, he thought as he scanned the horizon for any more giant ants. The groaning of the door to the city made him turn and follow her again. He'd been to Megaton only once before, a very long time ago. Before the Ninth Circle he'd been in with the employer before Azrukhal, a grim psychopath who just wanted to watch as Charon hurt people he perceived to have wronged him regularly. His name had been William. Charon was distracted with these thoughts but tuned back in when he saw the girl talking to a man in an old-time sheriffs hat. The man eyed Charon suspiciously but Isadora looked up at him with big brown eyes and vouched for the guy. He looked around the city, it was nothing like when he visited 80 something years ago.

“Simms I've got an idea for the bomb, I've been reading up in electrical magazines. You think the church people will let me near it?” she was smiling widely, excited to have a project. Simms, Charon thought he remembered a Simms being in the town when he'd visited. 

The man rubbed the back of his neck, “You take your bodyguard over with you I think they'll be sufficiently distracted. They love his kind.”

Isadora bristled at that comment, but Charon thought nothing of it. If anything it was a kind way to be described compared to any other way he'd experienced, “His name's Charon, Simms. He's my friend.” That word surprised Charon, he couldn't remember being described as a friend for a very long time. He had drinking buddies back in the army... but that was centuries ago.

“Sure. Look you get that bomb sorted out and a house just came available. I think the people will happily make it yours if you want it,” Simms crossed his arms over his chest. 

Isadora beamed, “Really?! I'd love that!”

“Get to it then,” the sheriff smiled at her and gave a curt nod to Charon. 

The girl turned and looked at him, “Ready to get us a home?” 

He inclined his head and she lead the way down to the bomb. Pretty much as soon as they got down into the crater a Children of Atom worshipper clocked Charon. It wasn't a surprise really, he was hardly inconspicuous looming over everyone the way he did. 

“Ah! You who have been blessed by Atom!” she alerted the rest of the flock to his presence and they swarmed him. 

Is took her opportunity to hurry over to the panel on the side of the bomb, her geiger counter ticking as she stepped into the radioactive puddle. She popped her head round to check on Charon who was standing ramrod straight in the middle of the worshippers. He caught her eye and she could see his discomfort, she crossed her eyes at him and he narrowed his eyes back at her. She chuckled before directing her attention to the inner workings of the bomb.   
Charon glared in her direction, trying to ignore the rambling of the Children of Atom. They appeared in Underworld occasionally but generally avoided Ninth Circle. They were harmless enough in his experience, but he had to step backwards when one tried to feel his skin...or lack of. 

“Please do not touch me,” he growled and they fell over themselves to apologise. Honestly that was more irritating, and he wasn't sure how much more he could patiently listen to them enthuse about how blessed he was to be a fucking corpse. 

“Misst- Isadora,” his voice was strained and her head whipped round so quick she nearly got whiplash. He'd never actually called her by her name before. 

“Sorry! All done,” she crimped the final wire and replaced the panel. Her work was done, the bomb was disarmed but the Children of Atom still had their idol. She looked forward to telling Simms. After rescuing Charon from his adoring fans of course. 

“Sorry guys, I need to take my friend for a drink, long day of travelling,” she waded through the throng of worshippers and Charon gave her a look that was almost grateful. 

“Praise be to Atom!” they all chanted as the pair headed up onto a walkway to Moriarty's. 

“You're like a god to them,” Isadora teased him.

He blew air out of his cheeks, “Gotta be some perks to being a rotten old corpse huh.”

She frowned at that but didn't say any more on the matter, instead pushing through the door into Moriarty's. The usual crowd was in there but they all turned when the light was blocked out by Charon ducking his frame through the door into the bar. 

“Jesus...” Nova muttered.

Whispers passed between the patrons of the bar. Jericho got to his feet unsteadily, “Didn't know you swung that way girly. Bit much, even for me.” Charon tensed at the accusation, he hadn't really considered that was where people's minds would go. A ridiculous idea, who ever heard of a Vaultie and a Ghoul?

“Fuck off Jericho,” Isadora ignored him and went to the bar. 

Gob hadn't even looked at her, his eyes fixed on Charon. Charon made his way to stand behind his employer where she sat on a bar stool before finally remembering where he knew the barman from.   
“Kid I swear I tell you there's danger somewhere and you head straight into it head on,” Gob shook his head as he fished in the fridge for a Nuka, her usual. 

She at least looked a little guilty, “You know me Gob, I go where the good deeds take me.”

“So I hear on the radio,” he opened the bottle of Nuka and placed it in front of her, “And what does your new friend want?”

Isadora looked over her shoulder at him, squinting upwards, “Sit down Charon, have a drink on me. What'll it be?”

He had no preference, and when he shrugged non-committally she rolled her eyes, “He'll have a beer.”

Gob fetched the drink for him and he took the seat next to the girl, stool creaking under his mass, “I haven't seen you for years Charon, it's strange seeing you outside of Ninth Circle and not...” 

“Murdering innocents?” Charon supplied and it took both Is and the ghoul behind the bar by surprise. Gob had never really heard Charon speak. 

Nova was making her way over to the bar to meet the girls new friend when a hand caught her wrist, Moriarty's bearded face close enough for her to smell his stale breath, “You have work to do. He's upstairs.” She frowned but did as she was told, heading upstairs with one last look down at the three talking at the bar.

“Well if it isn't the wee baby from the vault,” the man clapped his hand heavily on Gob's shoulder and the ghoul winced. 

Charon observed the exchange and worked out straight away what was going on. He almost felt his employer tense up and she started chewing the inside of her cheek like he'd noticed her do a few times. He took a swig from his beer and rolled his shoulder to feel the weight of his shotgun against his back. Isadora fiddled with the label on the bottle of cola.

“You keep that thing on a tight leash you hear me? He's not good for business,” the man barked in her direction and her blood boiled. 

She slipped her combat knife from her boot, an idea stolen from Charon and laid it on the bar, “That's my friend you're talking about. Anyone in here have any issue with my friend?” She didn't turn to look at anyone but said the last sentence louder for the bar to hear. 

You could cut the tension with a knife, but no one spoke up not even the old raider propped against the wall. She'd done enough good out there thus far that people didn't want to get on her bad side.   
“Hmm,” the bar owner looked her dead in the eye, “You just behave little girl.”

Charon's fingers flexed, trying to keep ready in case he would need to fight. Instead the man sidled off into a side-room and Gob stepped back over to them at the bar. He looked at Charon and an unspoken thing passed between them. They both knew how it was, and for his part Charon felt pity for the skinny kid he'd seen hanging around Carol years ago, who had ended up a slave. 

The atmosphere soon turned back to normal in the bar and people started talking, music played from the radio and the occasional muffled sound from upstairs was heard. The door opened and Sheriff Simms strode over to Isadora, thanking her enthusiastically for her work on the bomb and handing her a set of keys to a house by the entrance to Megaton. 

“Look at us Charon, got a home and everything,” she gave him a grin and held her bottle out for him to clink his against it. However he just stared at her with an eyebrow raised until she clinked her own bottle against his with an eye roll. 

Isadora chatted happily with the barman who cast several furtive glances into the back area and also towards Charon who sat quietly nursing his beer and listening. From their exchange he worked out that the vaultie was the one Three Dog had talked about on the radio, which came as no surprise really having watched her in action. He also worked out he had been right about her comfort in the presence of ghouls. She treated Gob like anyone else, even going so far as to slap a hand on his when they laughed at something. He found he enjoyed her strange dirty laugh, sitting there sipping his beer. 

“What did you do to your hair?” Gob asked. 

She bumped Charon with her shoulder jovially, “My new friend told me it could be dangerous to have such luscious locks so I had to get them chopped off.”

Charon rolled his eyes, “You asked for my opinion.”

“OK so what happened with Azrukhal? How did you two end up teaming up?” the ghoul wiped the bar with a rag. 

Isadora laughed, “Yeah, what did happen with Azrukhal Charon?”

“He got what was coming to him,” Charon shrugged and finished off his beer.

“Wish I could give someone else what they deserve,” Isadora grumbled and Gob gave her a warm smile. 

“I appreciate the thought Smoothskin, but you and I both know what happens to you if you do that,” Gobs tone was wistful. 

Isadora nodded, “Better be an upstanding citizen since I'm now a resident huh. In fact we'd better go check out our new place!” She downed her drink, dropped the caps for the round into Gob's hand and gave him a warm farewell.   
Charon unfolded himself from the stool and followed her out, twitching his chin in Gob's direction. He gave a wave of his hand back and watched them leave. Crazy smoothskin. He should have known that bundle of pure will and fire would go storming into Underworld and try to help Charon. How they'd now ended up travelling together was a mystery but Is seemed pretty invested in the team.

The girl almost ran along the gangways to get to the house. Her own house where she could be safe and finally feel at home. She realised she hadn't actually checked with Charon if he was ok sharing a house with her but wasn't really sure what the alternative was. The key turned in the lock and Charons heavy footsteps followed her into the metal building. The usual basics were there, and she threw her pack down by the door and raced up the stairs to see the bedroom. There were two rooms, but only one bed. She frowned, Lucas had mentioned she could buy whatever she needed from Moira though and she made a mental note to get the other room set up as a bedroom for Charon. 

The massive ghoul just closed the front door after him before taking up a position leaning against the wall of the shack. A Mr Handy hovered about, not acknowledging him. He could hear the footfall of the girl shuffling around upstairs and waited for her to come back down to know what exactly the plan was here. She appeared down the stairs soon after, satisfied she'd explored the makeshift bathroom and the bedrooms fully. 

“So there's two bedrooms but only one...” she trailed off, “Why are you standing over there?”

He was about to answer her when the robot made itself known, and as they made their introductions he was sure he could see a sheen of something in the girls eyes. Wandsworth as she now knew him instantly took her back to the vault with Andy and her throat constricted, tears pricking in her eyes. The Mr Handy made his excuses and went off to do something or other, and she turned to Charon with a big sniff to compose herself. 

“Why are you leaning there like that?” 

He felt unsure what to say, how did you word that you didn't know what you were allowed to do?

“Charon if you're ok with it I'd really like you to be as at home here as I plan to be. Do whatever you want while we're here, it's your house as much as mine,” her dark eyes looked at him imploringly.

“I...As you wish,” he mumbled and then awkwardly straightened up, now unsure what he wanted to do to 'make himself at home'. 

“I was saying earlier there's two bedrooms and only one bed, so I'm gonna run over to the trader and see what we can do about that. Stay here and make yourself comfortable,” she reached into her pack and grabbed a bag of caps before disappearing out of the door before he could tell her what made him comfortable was ensuring her safety by watching her back constantly. 

He looked around the shack at a loss for what to do. His feet ached he thought and made his way over to a chair against a desk. A thought came to him and he retrieved her rifle and cleaning supplies. He could take apart her gun properly and work on it. His cleaning days ago was short term, that gun needed real attention. Like muscle memory he settled himself in the seat and stripped the rifle down. He worked like this, meticulously cleaning and working on the components with just the sound of the robot hovering around in the background. 

Isadora finally returned with a man in tow, and she smiled when she saw Charon at the desk. She supposed from what she knew of him so far that was him making himself at home. The delivery man carrying the bed frame dragged it upstairs, Charon watching out of the corner of his eye. Isadora had a couple of boxes in her arms filled with food, drinks, pillows and blankets. The cleanest ones she could find at Moira's anyway. She set about unpacking and when Moira's mercenary guard brought up Charon's mattress she laid a couple of blankets and pillows on the bed for him to do with what he would, and took her pack into her room to get herself situated.


	8. 8

They'd rested at the house for over a week, Isadora running off to the supply store numerous times for different things she deemed necessary for their home. Presently, she lay on her bed reading one of her trashy romance novels. She was roused from her imaginary world of women in tight bodices and men with brooding expressions by a knock on her bedroom door. Charon had semi-done as she had asked by making himself a little more at home in their house. His room had a table freshly stocked with gun oil, scrap metal and cloths. There were even a few new t shirts and pairs of pants in a filing cabinet. Not his choice, hers. She'd returned from Craterside Supply with a big smile and an armful of cloth. He had been sat on a couch enjoying a beer, flicking through a Grognak comic when she'd thrown several dark coloured things into his lap which he'd held out in one hand like they may burn him. 

“You wanna play dress up?” he'd said derisively. 

All it earned him was that goofy cross-eyed expression she gave him more often than maybe even she realised, “No offence big guy but your clothes that go under your armor look like a molerat got to them.”  
He'd looked down at himself ; the greying, fraying, hem of his t-shirt glaring back at him as though to confirm her accusation. Fair point. 

“And you don't appear to have anything else. So I got you some things. Got me some too,” she headed up the stairs to put away her purchases. 

Charon watched her feet disappear up the stairs before inspecting the clothes. All dark colours, he thought as he fingered the old cotton on a black pair of sweatpants. Who knew there were still such a thing as sweatpants, he huffed air out of his nose. 

The sweatpants were what he was wearing when he entered her bedroom after she shouted for him to come in. He'd found them to actually be fairly comfortable while still giving him the room to move fast if he needed to. She turned from her book to look at him, he was gazing at the faded cover of her 'novel'. 

“Is it ok for me to make some dinner?” he asked still extremely unsure of this whole false freewill he was being given. 

“Of course it is. You don't have to ask me for things like that Charon,” she placed her book down open on the bed. 

He rubbed the back of his neck absently, and her eyes darted to the thick roped muscle on literal display, remembering the in depth description she'd been reading only moments earlier of Blake the stable-boy's same body part - give or take a layer of skin. 

“You hungry?” he asked. 

She got up on her knees and stetched her back out, arms up to the sky, “Sure, I could eat. What you got a hankering for?”

Charon kept his gaze level on her face, avoiding the fact her nipples were pressing very obviously through even her bra to poke through the oversized Slocum's Joe t shirt she wore around the house. She appeared to be finding it very easy to be comfortable around him, a side effect of living in such close quarters in the vault. Everyone in the vault had seen more of another dweller than they'd meant to just by running into them in the gym or another room. It was just part of life down there. She didn't really even know she was doing it. Isadora always wore a bra unless she was sleeping somewhere safe, the size and weight of her bust making her uncomfortable without. Amata had called her weird for it, herself never wearing one.

“Salisbury Steak and Instamash?” she suggested when he didn't answer. 

She jumped up when he nodded his agreement and padded downstairs barefoot. He hated that she did that, so easy to injure herself unnecessarily. The metal under her feet reminded her of home. He followed her downstairs and busied himself checking over their ammo while she cooked. It wasn't that he didn't cook, just that she always got there first. Truthfully she was a bit of a control freak who just wanted to take the spoon off of anyone and everyone who tried to get involved when she cooked.  
The girl chattered to him as they ate, now used to his grunts and few words forming the other half of their conversations. 

“What do you know about Rivet City?” she asked him when she swallowed a mouthful of nuka. 

He rolled his jaw, he'd been of course, “It stinks.”

She gave a bark of her gravelly laugh, “OK... anything else?”

“Good defenses. Not a bad market,” he shrugged, “About 2 weeks from here if we move quickly.”

Charon wanted to know why she wanted to know, but couldn't bring himself to be so forward as to ask her business.

“ThreeDog said that's where my dad was going when he saw him,” emotion glinted in her eyes when she looked at him, “I tried to get there straight after I took down the Behemoth- “Charon's eyes widened at that but she carried on without giving him chance to question that story-”But the Fatman only had one mini-nuke and when I ran into the muties there were too many.”

Isadora tugged the t shirt off of her right shoulder and Charon's eyes were drawn to a jagged scar along her collarbone and disappearing below the thin cotton onto her chest. “One had a missile launcher and I got this... but now I think I can take them. With you as back-up.”

He knew the story with her dad, she'd told him different parts as they'd travelled together. 

“We could leave tomorrow if you don't mind?”

If he didn't mind? She kept asking him things in this way, as though he had a choice. It was an empty gesture even if she didn't realise it – but he didn't hold it against her, “Sure. Tomorrow sounds good. I'll give you that lesson on cleaning your guns tonight. You should oil your rifle and pistol before we head out.”

She nodded, “I'll give Marilyn a real good lubing don't worry.”

He snorted a laugh as he drank his cola, “For fucks sake smoothskin.”

Isadora gave him an innocent expression, glowing internally at his use of a name other than her own or mistress, “What?”

Charon shook his head, not answering and getting a wicked grin for it, “You need to get your mind out of the gutter, big guy.” He tried to ignore the ghost of a feeling he got when she called him that. Plenty of people had called him that or something similar over the centuries, but the way she said it had this strange lilt to it. Like a challenge, he thought. 

They were finished, and Charon took the plates away for washing while she went to her locker to dig through supplies they may need for the trek. When he'd set them on the side to dry he joined her and they worked side by side quietly with just the occasional question and the music playing from the radio turned to GNR. Wandsworth hovered around busying himself sweeping and tidying as they packed their respective backpacks. Charon insisted on taking the heaviest rations such as the water and bedrolls to which she protested profusely but to no avail. They only way he was relenting was if she ordered him to and she wouldn't do it. Eventually they were all packed, and she grabbed her rifle and 10mm to take to the desk. 

The old ghoul lowered his frame onto the chair and she hovered over his shoulder as he carefully and patiently talked her through stripping her weapons down, maintaining them and putting them back together. Once the pistol was done, he swapped places with her so she could give it a try on her rifle. Her fingers while narrow were clumsy, and without thinking he reached over her to steady her hands taking out the firing pin. She jumped a little at the unexpected contact, and he froze. His hip was against her shoulder, the shirt still hanging precariously off of it. He eyed the golden flesh dotted with scars and the one she'd shown him earlier that trailed below the material.

“I apologise, mistress,” he pulled his hands back and straightened. 

“No, Charon it's fine! You just surprised me,” she laughed thoughtlessly, “please carry on.”

He couldn't refuse what she hadn't intended as an order but had been one all the same; and returned to his lesson, leaning in to point things out and demonstrating but being extremely careful not to touch her again. In bed that night after she'd gone into her own room he had berated himself for getting way too comfortable. Azrukhals face swam in his head, taunting him "Getting bold in your old age Sharon" as he had the first night he'd seen her. She may want him to have his freedom but the fact remained that he could not. And even aside from that he was a ghoul, how dare he touch her with his rotting, necrotic hands? He punched his pillow grumpily, rolling over determined to sleep ready for their journey tomorrow.


	9. 9

They were pinned down, too many ferals past those gates to handle with their weapons alone when she finally placed the smell up her nostrils. Gas. She whistled loudly for Charon's attention, and he turned to look at her questioningly with the last remaining feral in their section held in the air by it's throat. It's feet dangled pathetically as it clawed at him to get away and get to her. Heat flushed Isadora's face as she took in the sight, and though she didn't openly admit it to herself she knew what it was in response to. Charon's display of raw, brute strength caught her off guard as he heaved the feral over the walkway and it fell a hundred feet to smash into the unforgiving concrete floor below. 

“What?” he asked, reminding her she'd been intending to tell him something. 

She pushed her hair off her face, ignoring the radioactive blood she was smearing on her cheek, and pointed to the cracked pipe over by a generator, “There's a gas leak. If we can ignite it it'll take them out or at least thin the herd.”

He looked where she gestured and nodded, “Good plan. But what about us?”

The feral below them's pained hissing reached their ears and she chewed the inside of her cheek, “I...” 

Charon nodded behind her and she turned to look at the door to a supply closet, “That would do. Everything's metal in here not much chance of it catching fire-”

“So we wait it out in there until the flames burn out.” she finished his thought.

Before he could agree she already had a grenade out, the pin between her fingers. He rolled his eyes, “Check the door isn't locked first.”

She stuck her tongue out at him, “Obviously.” Like she'd even thought of it before he mentioned it.

He shook his head at her, “Crazy kid,” he grumbled as he went to the door and pulled it open with a groan of protesting old metal. 

“Ready?” she called over her shoulder at him and he tried not to think about how tiny that cupboard was when he heard the tell-tale click of the pin hitting the ground. 

Didn't even give him any warning he thought irritably when he heard her make a noise of exertion as she threw it in the direction of the gas pipe. She hurried over to him, and he waited for her to be in the closet before folding himself in there and closing the door just as a loud whoosh of heat erupted at his back. Angry hissing from the ferals and the roar of fire was all they could hear. Heat blazed at the door and his elbow sizzled where it touched the metal. 

He hissed and instinctively pulled it away. 

“You ok big guy?” Is asked him with concern and he grunted in reply. He was too close to the now red hot door, and took a step further into the closet putting him nearer to her. 

The room was getting warm now, and she pushed her hair off her face again where it had started to stick to the sweat building on her skin. The dull light in the ceiling illuminated his features as he stared above her head listening to the fire blaze outside their haven. 

“Jesus it's hot,” she complained and stripped off her leather jacket, trying to ignore the pungent smell that now drifted from her body. The next place they camped she was having a stripwash whether Charon thought it was safe or not. If he noticed the smell he said nothing. He'd traveled the wastes enough to be used to what it did to the body, plus he didn't imagine he smelled any better. 

He felt ungainly in this small space with her, and didn't know where to put his hands, settling on crossing his arms across his body while he listened. A few different hisses and roars came from whatever ferals survived. 

Isadora was struck by a memory and laughed slightly despite herself. Fumbled terrible encounters in a dark closet not unlike this in the name of “Seven Minutes in Heaven”. Her first kiss with Butch had been during one of these games. Charon now looked at her questioningly, possibly wondering why she was laughing to herself like a mad woman. 

“You ever hear of Seven Minutes in Heaven?” she asked.

He tightened his arms across himself, “Heard of it.”

She shifted from one foot to the other, and the sound of the flames seemed to be slowing now – the remainder of what gas was left in the system dissipating, “We played it in the Vault a lot. Butch started it, and he pushed for it more and more as we got older.”

“Butch?” Charon didn't know why he cared enough to ask, maybe to distract from this uncomfortable conversation about making out in a closet they were having while locked in a closet. 

“He was... a friend,” she answered but he saw the hint of a smile at the corner of her lips. He knew what kind of friend Butch was, “he was a kid in my class. When we took the GOAT he was assigned hairdresser.” she giggled. 

He didn't say anything, honestly not particularly interested in hearing about this kid. “But he became a barber and actually turned out to be pretty talented at it. He did my hair the last couple of years.”

Charon had nothing to offer to the conversation, and was glad to hear the flames had died down. He touched the door gingerly and though it was warm it didn't burn and he opened it, stepping out of the closet and hopefully out of Isadora's memory lane. It reeked of burning meat. They dispatched the remaining ghouls and continued out of the metro tunnel. 

They were surprised to find it had gone dark while they travelled underground, and Charon suggested they make camp before finishing the last day of their travel. Isadora heartily agreed, hating to travel in the dark more than she hated trying to sleep in it. As was their routine, they walked along as Charon scouted a good spot for a camp. She was overjoyed when he chose a location next to the river. An old trailer from a truck sat half buried in the river bank. When she climbed in she found it to be generally level and not have too much soil inside. Charon dropped his pack in beside her and she laid out their bedrolls parallel to each other while he set a couple of traps around the metal container. When he joined her inside she was digging through her pack for something. 

She made a triumphant noise and pulled out a bundle of clothes, a threadbare towel and bar of old soap, “A-ha!”

He looked at her with the remnants of an eyebrow quirked, “What?”

“I'm disgusting, I'm gonna go wash in the river,” she replied as she made her way out of the trailer. 

Charon groaned, “What about mirelurks?”

Her back was turned to him but she looked over her shoulder, “Good thing I've got my bodyguard then isn't it. Come on Charon I need this.”

The grumpy old ghoul rolled his shoulders and made a reluctant noise of assent. She wasn't looking at him but he heard the sound of her unzipping her armored vaultsuit. He averted his eyes when he heard it hit the dirt, but when he heard splashing he assumed it was safe to look again to keep any eye out for her. He'd been wrong. 

She'd paddled only slightly into the water still wearing her underwear. He took in her toned legs and the curve of her small but tight ass before looking away again when he got to her waist. The layer of padding she'd had weeks ago was quickly going, replaced with hard muscle as she exercised more. He was furious at himself, ashamed at unintentionally peeping at her like a pervert. Well, the first look had been unintentional but he'd taken in more than just the initial sight and he knew it. He knew he was in the end just as weak as any other man when it came to these things but this part of his humanity would have been handy to be able to shut off like he could everything else. The bastards hadn't thought to include this in the shock therapy had they, he thought angrily.   
He dug out a crumpled packet of cigarettes from his pack. Hadn't touched one for decades but they still felt just as familiar as he lit one with a flip lighter they'd found alongside the packet of cigarettes in an office somewhere. The sound of her bra and then underwear hitting the ground made him draw deeply on the cigarette but she was safely under the cover of the dark water now when he hazarded a peek after hearing more splashing. Safe from his leering, he thought with a grunt. He continued watching her then, justifying it to himself as keeping lookout for mirelurks now that he couldn't see anything more than bare shoulders. 

Isadora hummed as she soaped herself down, not even realising he was looking in her direction. She could see a red glowing dot in the darkness of the trailer when she looked back to shore and that was all. She dunked her head under the cold water to quickly wash her hair, and didn't see him reach for his shotgun when he realised he couldn't see her for a moment. He let go when she reappeared with a sound of pleasure that carried on the air to him like a taunt. 

Charon lit another cigarette when he finished the first, and when he heard the splash of her heading to the shore he made sure to be looking anywhere but out of the entrance of the trailer. She towelled herself off until she was dry enough to put on fresh underwear she'd taken with her bundled in the towel. She pulled on a clean pair of tight pants and a sweater with so many loose threads sticking out it looked like a spiky mutfruit, before returning to the trailer while rubbing her hair with the towel. 

“Much better,” she grinned as she sat on her bedroll, “Hey, since when do you smoke?”

“Couple of centuries,” he replied and she rolled her eyes, flicking on her PipBoy light to illuminate the trailer.

“Smart ass. Mutt chops for dinner I'm afraid, we need to restock at the market in Rivet City,” she handed him a package wrapped in cloth. 

They ate their cold meal with not many words exchanged. She was pleased at his smoking, bad as it was for his health, she took it to mean he was doing more of what he wanted to. He insisted on taking the first watch, and Isadora didn't argue. She'd started to sleep easier now with him there to reassure her of her safety in the dark. He settled himself against the back of the trailer to keep watch as she wriggled herself into her sleeping bag. 

“Night,” she said warmly as she turned off her pipboy light.

Darkness was almost absolute save for the moon behind the clouds, and Charon shifted his shotgun within her reach without her asking, but still within grasp if he needed it. He watched her get herself comfortable and lay a hand over the handle of the gun. A point of contact that he'd noticed made her sleep easier. The gasping wake-ups seemed to have stopped nearly completely now, but neither had mentioned it. He listened to the lapping of the water, and her breathing as it slowed and deepened when she fell asleep. 

Charon lit another cigarette around 11pm and tried not to think about the slight floral scent the soap afforded her skin that drifted to him on the night air or the small sound she had just made and whether she'd been dreaming of the barber to cause it.


	10. 10

The sun rose hazily through the dull clouds around 5am, soft light cast across both of them. Charon had shifted in his sleep onto his side facing her. She chewed the fleshy pad of her thumb and looked at him, the stroic ancient man who kept her safe. Discarded cigarette butts lay in an empty bottle of nuka by his side, his shotgun still laid on the metal floor of the trailer. She'd not thought too deeply about the comfort it gave her to touch the trusty weapon as she slept, but she did know it made her sleep so much easier. 

A breeze caught a lock of Charon's remaining red hair, pushing it across his forehead. She stretched her back out as she considered him, letting out a small squeak that caused him to furrow his brow in his sleep. His jaw was strong and square, she thought he would have been quite conventionally handsome before the war... though he was still handsome in his way she decided. His nose was gone, ridges of cartilage all that remained above the hole of his nostrils. His mouth was wide with lips slightly on the thin side, and his cheekbones sharp enough that she almost wanted to reach out and run a finger along one. The skin remained on one cheek, a small amount on his top lip and in a slash across his forehead but the rest of his face was made up of exposed muscle and blood vessels. Behind his peacefully closed eyelids lay eyes that would have been piercingly blue before the milky white film. His tongue ran across his bottom lip in his sleep and she felt a blush creep up her neck for what reason she wasn't sure.  
She thought of his voice, the New Jersey accent she recognised from a character in a movie she'd watched in the vault. Deep and rasping it vibrated through her when he stood close and spoke, and the extremely rare rumbling laugh never failed to make her beam at him uncontrollably. As her eyes crept down from his face to his wide shoulders, a loud bang startled him awake. In moments his shotgun was in his hands and the sleeping bag pooled at his waist. She grabbed her rifle and looked at him worriedly, listening for further noises and hoping it wasn't one of their traps being triggered. 

“West of here, about a mile,” Charon's voice was hoarse from sleep. 

He cracked his knuckles and she dropped her rifle in her lap with a relieved sigh. She reached into his pack to grab them both some water, and he watched her out of the corner of his eye. 

“Shit, we're out of dirty water,” she groaned with her head half in the backpack.

Charon shrugged, he could survive without for a while. He was very surprised when she appeared before him proffering a bottle of purified water, “This OK for you big guy? Sorry we've only got purified.”

“Sorry?” he looked up at her, a weird feeling when he was used to only seeing the top of her head and cleavage. 

Isadora opened her bottle and drank deeply, “Yeah, I didn't realise we were so low on your water. Doc Barrows told me when I came to Underworld that the radiation in it is good for you guys so I've been buying it for you.”  
He was surprised. He genuinely hadn't considered she was going out of her way to buy things for him other than the supplies of a bodyguard like bullets and armor. It was possibly the nicest gesture anyone had done for him this side of the bombs and she hadn't even realised it was. She just did it anyway. 

“No need to apologise smoothskin,” he said with just a tinge of wonder in his voice. 

She cocked her head to the side a little, but didn't say anything. The name Gob called her felt totally different when he said it, though she doubted he meant it to. He drank from the bottle of water and Isadora thought he looked lost in thought. As he wiped his mouth on the back of his arm he winced and made a sound of pain when the burn on his elbow reminded him of it's existence. 

“What's up?” Isadora was already in her pack digging out a first aid kit.

“It's nothing.”

“It's not nothing,” she scolded as she settled on her knees in front of him.

He looked at her like a wounded animal, “It's fine.”

“Let me look Charon, you're in pain,” she gave him a hard look and it was unquestionably an order. 

His milky eyes narrowed at her, but he couldn't be angry at her for the command that was basically just looking out for him. He held his arm out for her to inspect the burn and she sucked air in between her teeth at the angry red welt. 

“What happened?” she asked as she reached into her first aid kit. 

“Caught it on the door in the metro when the fire was burning,” he eyed her concerned expression. 

“Can I touch you?” she asked and he looked into her eyes. No one had asked his permission for anything in decades. 

“You don't have to ask my permission.”

“I made you uncomfortable when I touched you in Underworld, I promised I wouldn't do it again,” Isadora had that earnest look he'd seen before, “But this needs attention.”

“OK.” He remembered the conversation now. 

She opened the tin of healing salve in her hand and scooped some onto her fingers. It smelled herby and Charon watched as she took hold of his arm to lift it into her lap. The feeling was intimate and Charon didn't know what to do with himself as she gently and tenderly smoothed the salve on the wound. She for her part felt something tighten in her stomach at the feeling of his heavy muscled arm resting on her thigh. He couldn't place how her smooth fingers felt stroking his flesh, until he felt an old but familiar stirring. Jesus he was like a virgin at prom. Thankfully Isadora didn't look up from her ministrations and when the lid was replaced she set to wrapping a tight bandage around his elbow. 

“The salve will keep infection away but I want to use a stimpak too for good measure,” she chewed the skin inside her cheek as she fished in the kit for a stimpak. 

He shook his head, “I don't need it,” and pulled his arm back out of her lap. 

The grunt of pain he made forced her to look at him sardonically, “Then you're having a Med-X for the pain.”

Charon opened his mouth to protest but she stared him down, “No arguments.”

She injected him before he could say anything and he felt the drugs spread cold through his veins. It fogged his brain, he knew that feeling well. A lot of the time an employer would give him a Med-X in place of a stimpak. He had the knotted scars of poor healing to prove it. 

“When the high wears off we'll move,” she was packing away her things now without looking at him. 

He studied her form, the way her sweater had slid off her shoulder to reveal her greying bra strap. She hummed as she tied her pack closed, now diving into his to retrieve breakfast. The sound spread warmth up his neck and he closed his eyes for a moment. She retrieved two boxes of Sugar Bombs and placed one in front of him before ripping her own open and digging in. 

“It doesn't make me uncomfortable you know,” he surprised her when he spoke. His eyes were still closed. 

She swallowed her mouthful before speaking “What was that Charon?”

“You said ealier you made me uncomfortable touching me. It doesn't make me uncomfortable,” he barely held back on telling her it actually had been something akin to nice. 

“I just assumed...”

He cut her off, the drugs clearly loosening his lips and making him chatty, “It just surprised me. I don't mind you touching me.”

Pink tinged her cheeks and he gazed at it with interest. She spoke with her mouth full, “You don't mind?” 

“If you want to do it - I have no objections,” his pupils were dilated behind the film and she narrowed her eyes at him. He was very high. 

“You're high,” she laughed and the dirty way it rolled out of her made Charon shiver imperceptibly. 

“That laugh. You're killing me Doll,” he closed his eyes and rocked his head back against the body of the trailer. The old term of endearment just flowed naturally, he'd called many women that before the war when it was common place in Jersey. 

Isadora just stared at him, the petname causing her blush to deepen. She didn't know what to do. The high would wear off soon, and she couldn't hold him accountable for any drugged up ramblings. He probably wouldn't even remember. In the absence of any better ideas she packed away her bedroll and exited the trailer to look in the distance at the massive frame of Rivet City. Lyons had plotted the location as a blinking tag on her Pipboy map. She took the opportunity to stretch out fully, and as she finished Charon appeared bleary eyed out of the trailer with both packs in hand. 

“You OK there space cadet?” Isadora teased him with a grin. 

He narrowed his eyes at her, planning to stay silent for at least 10 years after that outburst but she just crossed her eyes back at him. 

“Come on, let's go,” she took her pack and rifle from him and they started the last of the journey to Rivet City.


	11. 11

They made it to Rivet City with no major injuries to speak of from their skirmishes with the local Super Mutant population. Is gave her last bottle of purified water to the beggar on the walkway to which Charon blew air out of his nostrils disapprovingly. The wasteland was an unforgiving place and Isadora needed to learn to put herself first, he thought as she pushed the intercom buzzer. She exchanged words with the fuzzy voice on the other end and they were finally allowed to board. 

“Phew, you didn't lie big guy. It stinks here,” she scrunched up her nose against the stagnant water stench. 

He didn't respond, he hadn't spoken a word since they left camp that morning. It was as though he'd used up his quota of words for the day in that chatty burst the Med-X had given him. In reality he was mortified with himself for the things he'd said. All he did was whistle his battlefield communications to Is, a system of sounds she'd come to understand and even used back to him. He followed her along the gangplank, his footsteps booming against the old metal. On the other side Isadora was addressed by the chief of security, Harkness as he introduced himself. 

The security officer fixed Charon with a hard stare, standing only 6 inches or so shorter than the ghoul. 

“Your companion won't cause me any trouble I assume?” he spoke to Isadora but his eyes didn't leave him. Charon held his stare steadily, refusing to submit and look away. 

“No, Charon will protect me but he doesn't go looking for trouble,” she answered him, “Now I need to know if you've seen my father. He was supposed to be visiting Dr. Li”

Isadora gave a brief description of her father with his olive skin and dark eyes exactly like her own. 

The officer thought for a moment, “Sounds familiar, you'll find her in the science labs. Keep your nose clean you hear.”

“Thank you,” she gave him a genuine beaming smile and he nodded but again fixed Charon with a warning look. 

As they passed Charon rumbled a growling sound at him just because and the officer flinched away. Idiot, Charon smirked. Isadora looked back at him with raised eyebrows but he just looked above her head. She was used to his quiet company but he was all but ignoring her now and it was pissing her off. He followed her through the door into the market, ducking his head under a pipe as they descended the steps. He'd been here before with an employer when he'd first come to the Capital, but he also remembered the original aircraft carrier the USS Archer. The stalls in the market were essentially the same, just held by different sellers. Isadora wasn't even looking though, she was barrelling through to find the labs with total focus. Charon's large strides kept up easily as she almost jogged through looking for signs. She raced through the maze of corridors like a mouse until she came to the science labs. 

She stopped for a moment, hand against the metal of the door uncertainly. Her other hand flitted up to her hair and she dragged her fingers through it, blood flying out and spattering the metal where she caught a matted patch. Not her own, the centaur she'd stamped to death under her boot. Charon watched her internal struggle, waiting for her to make a choice. What the hell would she look like to her dad now? She missed him so much. Would he be proud of her? Would he be disgusted by her filthy appearance? Someone rounded the corner and surprised her out of her thoughts. Her drooping shoulders squared and she set her jaw, grasping the handle to the door and opening it decisively. They stepped into the room and she searched the room with darting eyes. Not one person resembled her father. Tears welled in her eyes and her throat burned. 

“Missed him again,” she murmured almost too quietly for Charon to hear. 

He heard the way her voice cracked though, and how she gave a loud sniffle to try to control her emotions. She looked her age to him at that moment, a lost 19 year old girl. His urge to protect her almost made him bundle her back out of the room, all because of his contract he told himself although the contract made no mention of emotional pain. He shifted uncomfortably on his feet then followed her down into the lab. The loud sound of his boots on the metal floor drew the attention of most of the people working in the lab. Footprints of mud and blood were left in a trail behind them. 

Isadora located Dr Li over by a table looking into a microscope, “Excuse me.”

“This is a restricted area,” the doctor looked up from her work, “how many times do I have to tell you people...” and through the gore she met those dark eyes and it was unmistakable who the girl was. 

“It's you... you look so much like him,” she said softly and Isadora's throat constricted, “What are you doing here?”

The girls eyebrows knitted together and Charon crossed his arms across his chest, “How do you know me?”

“You wouldn't remember, you were so young. And clearly your father never mentioned me...typical,” the woman looked more hurt than annoyed, “I'm Dr. Madison Li, I worked with your parents. Now I run the science labs in Rivet City.”

“You worked with my parents?” a lone tear slipped down Isadora's cheek cutting a path through dried bloodspatter.

The doctor nodded, “When your mother died your father took you and left. He abandoned his work and disappeared. You're supposed to be in a vault, James said he left you there.”

The world seemed to tilt slightly under Isadora's feet at the bizarreness of someone she had never met calling her father by his first name so casually, “Have you seen him?”

“You haven't?” Dr Li almost sounded accusing. 

Charon rolled his shoulders a little, shifting his shotgun against his back as Isadora asked the doctor questions with a shaking voice.

“I left the vault to find him,” Isadora's voice was small. 

The woman looked at her like dirt on her shoe, “I was under the impression that that was the last thing he wanted for you.”

“I didn't have a choice.” there was old pain in the girls words.

“Well if you're looking for him you won't find him here. He's already come and gone,” the doctor's voice was full of irritation. 

If she hadn't been so upset, Isadora may have asked the woman what exactly her problem was but as it was the abruptness with which the doctor spoke washed straight over her.

“Do you know where he is?” she asked. 

“He went to our old lab. I told him not to. Do you mind? I have work to do,” the doctor tapped her fingers agitatedly on the table. 

Charon watched as everything seemed to leave his employer, her shoulders sagging and her body almost shrinking in on itself. “Please, tell me where the lab is.”

With an exaggerated sound of annoyance the doctor answered, “The old Jefferson Memorial Building. West of here along the river. It's too dangerous you shouldn't go alone.”

At that, Charon shifted on his feet and cleared his throat. The doctors eyes flickered to him, widened and flitted back to his employer, “Or with your mercenary. Coming in here trailing blood and guts like a raider. James would be ashamed.”

That broke something in Isadora, “What's your fucking problem?”

The doctor narrowed her eyes, “Get out of my lab.”

“Gladly,” the girl's veins almost instantly pumped with adrenaline and she kicked out suddenly. The table the doctor had been working on upended, spilling it's contents across the floor. 

“What do you think you're doing?!” Li yelled at her but she was already stalking out of the lab. 

Charon reached behind himself to his gun but didn't draw it, just stayed prepared as he followed Isadora out of the room. The girl was already stomping away along a corridor before she turned and punched the wall hard with an angry yell. The clanging metal rang in Charon's ears and he frowned remembering the security officer's warning to behave. 

“What a fucking bitch!” Isadora roared, “What the FUCK was her problem?” she punctuated her profanity with another punch to the wall. 

Hot pain radiated from her knuckles along to her elbow but she ignored it. Charon didn't say a word and his brevity just irritated her further. 

“And what's your problem?” she spat the words at him, body shaking with her anger. All her hurt and disappointment was channelled into her rage at the world. 

He stared down at her but his expression was unreadable. After the morning's events as far as he was concerned he didn't need to speak to her to keep her safe now. 

“No answer, what a fucking surprise,” she seethed and turned from him. He could see the way her shoulders rose and fell with the effort of keeping her rage in check. 

Charon followed when she stormed away, still silent but now wary of what her anger would make her do. Would now be the time she snapped and finally treated him like the weapon that he was? Would she give up this facade of nicety and relinquish the rights she'd given him over the months they'd been paired up? She got lost a couple of times, only adding to her frustration. He tried to work out where she was heading, and by the time she got to the back end of the ship he realised. She pushed the door open to the bar and strode in, Charon in tow and getting the usual hushed reaction when people turned to stare at his massive presence. 

“I'm going to the bathroom, get yourself a drink at the bar,” she said over her shoulder to him. 

It was an order, and Charon complied with no real feelings either way about the drink. He wasn't happy about her going to the bathroom alone but honestly what was the alternative, watch her go to the toilet? He took his bottle of beer over to lean on the wall and survey the room, seeing no one he thought would cause him any difficulty if they posed a threat. A couple were getting over friendly by the jukebox, a group of young men loudly jeered at each other and a pair of ghoulettes sat quietly whispering to each other in a corner. 

He realised Isadora had been gone longer than he'd expect but as he pushed off the wall to go and look for her, she reappeared. It was like she'd become a different person. The blood and other grime was washed from her face, her hair brushed and tidily framing her round face. She'd rid herself of her dirty clothes from the journey and now wore a tanktop, tight jeans and her leather jacket just like she did when he first saw her, zipped up to push up her tits just like that day too. Her plump lips were stained red and he lingered on them as she made her way to him.

Her expression betrayed none of her fury or heartache earlier, instead her expression was full of seductive wickedness. Charon swallowed thickly, eyes flickering over to the group of men who now glanced over furtively at her stood in front of him. Where did she get red lipstick? 

She dropped her pack in front of him and looked up into his eyes, “Look after this for me?”

He inclined his chin and watched as she turned on her heel and made her way to the bar, swaying her hips deliberately. He'd seen her do this, many times since her attempts to charm Azrukhal. It almost always worked and he had wondered a few times if he was going to end up stood guard while she had her way with the poor shmucks in an alleyway. He hated that thought, but thankfully it had never come to fruition – his employer appeared to be a total cock-tease and only interested in getting her own way. This time though there was no goal to be achieved, he thought as he watched her lean over the bar and one member of the group of men stared openly at her backside. Could he honestly be annoyed at her for having her fun? A young pretty girl like her deserved it for the shit she did for people he supposed...but it didn't sit right with him in this bar in this stinking ship. It was her defense mechanism really, she solved her bullying issues with the tunnel snakes by trying her hand at the femme-fatale angle. It got her what she needed out here, and what she needed right now was a distraction from the doctor's words that may have hit a little too close to home. 

Isadora felt a gaze on her, and turned to look at the group of men she'd clocked when they entered, which had given her the idea in the first place. A couple looked away shyly but one caught her gaze, she smiled and turned away from him to settle herself on a bar stool. It worked, and he came over to talk to her with his friends whistling and jeering. He leaned on the bar next to her, watching as she slipped the tip of her straw between her lips. 

“Haven't seen you around here before,” he said as smoothly as he could muster and inside Isadora cringed... really? 

Charon watched as she straightened up, arching her back slightly to push her chest forward and getting the desired effect of the kids immediate attention. He drank deeply from his beer. 

“I'm new... just got here this afternoon,” she licked her bottom lip as she made eye contact with him.

“I was going to say, I'd remember if I'd seen a girl like you before” he motioned to the bartender for another of whatever it was he was drinking. 

Jesus did this guy step straight out of a cliché? Isadora wondered but kept her urge to roll her eyes in check. 

“Oh I'm sure you say that to all the girls,” her voice was breathy and like silk, an immitation of Marilyn Monroe from the movies she'd seen in the vault. 

He shook his head and placed a hand over hers boldly where it sat on the bar. Her eyes flicked to it and Charon tensed at the wall. He was a bodyguard he had to remind himself, not a cock-block. 

“Only the hot ones,” he smirked. Finally a spark of something, Isadora thought, a sense of humour or cockiness or anything. 

She gave him a beaming smile, crossing her legs deliberately to draw his attention to the way her thighs pressed together, “Is that so?”

Charon blew air out of his nostrils, shifting against the wall feeling right back in the Ninth Circle. If he'd looked away from the girl and her new friend he might have seen one of the ghoul girls was chancing glances at him over her shoulder with interest written across her face. The guy made Isadora laugh, and the massive ghoul felt it vibrate through him like a dog-whistle. He probably hadn't said anything funny, he knew the smoothskin would regularly give men a convincing giggle at their terrible jokes. 

“Your friends aren't missing you?” she asked him with a slender finger pointed in his groups direction. 

He shrugged, “Your boyfriend over there isn't missing you? He looks like he wants to shoot me.”

Isadora looked over her shoulder at Charon who immediately stood straighter waiting for her to give him a command but she just smiled wolfishly and turned back to her companion. “Who, Charon? No it's nothing like that,” she giggled and Charon's eyes narrowed as he inferred they were now poking fun at him. Of course it would only have been a matter of time he guessed. 

“He just keeps me safe,” she ran her fingers along her glass stem and didn't miss how the mans eyes followed them. 

“So you're available is what you're telling me,” the guy gave her a smile showing cracked teeth. 

“I guess it is, your friends look like they're having so much fun,” Isadora cocked her head to the side and asked coquettishly, “Introduce me?”

He held out his arm for her to take and when she did he escorted her over to the table his group was at. Charon watched closely as she was introduced and made her impression on every man in the group. Her magnetism was practised and effective, even if they didn't find themselves wanting her they wanted to be around her. An hour or so and too many whiskys for her later she was roaring drunk, her new friend was getting bolder with his hand now placed on her waist and edging lower all the time. She was the life of the party; singing along terribly to the music, making everyone laugh and shout along with her. Charon just leaned against the wall, still on his first beer and watching the situation unfold. He wanted to break every one of the fingers on the hand on her hip, but Isadora didn't show any sign of discomfort at the contact so he stayed put, lighting a cigarette but not taking an eye off the girl. 

“My round!” she squealed and got up clumsily from where she sat in her new companion's lap, her breasts almost pressed in his face by the way her body twisted.

“Time for shots I think!” one of the men whooped and she threw her arms in the air with a loud agreement on the way to the bar.

Her legs however had other ideas, wobbling mutinously until she tripped over her own feet and fell. Charon was by her side in moments, hands on her arms to lift her back up. She looked into his eyes with unfocussed dilated pupils. 

“My friend now are we?” she slurred. 

Her new friend was there now, “Come on baby, you need another drink.”

“She's had enough,” Charon growled at the kid and he shrank a little. 

“You're not the boss of me,” Isadora slapped his hands away.

“Smoothskin...” he started but the young guy had obviously been emboldened by his liquor. 

He stepped between Charon and his employer, “You heard her. Back off.”

Isadora was on her feet now, swaying dangerously, “I want another!”

This earned a raucous whoop from the group of men she'd been entertaining and the kid stuck his chin out. Charon stood to his full height and squared his shoulders, and of course the kid took a step back. 

“Mistress, you asked me to keep you safe,” he spoke in monotone looking directly in her eyes.

She shrugged, “I'm safe here! Johnny- wait sorry- Jimmy will look after me won't you?”

'Jimmy' nodded enthusiastically, “Oh I'll look after her all right.”

Charon glared daggers at him, “Isadora you need to come with me.”

“You'll have to carry me out of here kicking and screaming,” she stuck her tongue out at her bodyguard childishly. 

He let out a groan and rolled his eyes before scooping her over his shoulder, choosing to interpret that as an order. She let out a surprised squeak but no kicking or screaming occurred. He turned and picked up their packs in one hand, keeping the other arm clamped across the back of her knees. Isadora just giggled uncontrollably, too drunk to care what she looked like. She waved and blew kisses to the men who booed at Charon for taking away their fun, and she bounced up and down with Charon's steps as he stomped out of the bar. 

“You can put me down now,” she called in a sing-song voice aqs they climbed the steps and Charon had the urge to swat her buttocks like an unruly child. 

He carried her up and out into the freezing stinking night air on deck. 

“Charon put me down,” her voice had lost it's giggly edge and she now sounded nauseous. 

It was an order, no wiggle room, and he placed her back on her feet unceremoniously. She swayed, her face pale and her red lipstick bleeding slightly into her skin. The world tilted and spun and Isadora all but fell into the railings, her top half going over as she brought up the all liquid contents of her stomach into the water below. 

Charon watched but didn't intervene, just grabbed a handful of her leather jacket so she wouldn't topple overboard. The sounds of her drunken vomiting subsided and blurred into gentle sniffling sounds, apparently she was running the gauntlet of emotions today. Violence into sadness, into fury, into seductive, jovial, and finally back to the real problem – sadness. He didn't say anything, just let her have her few moments of soft tears. She coughed exaggeratedly then straightened up. When he was sure she was no longer a falling risk he let go of her jacket and lit a cigarette. 

“Sorry.”

He looked at her as he blew the smoke out of his nostrils, “For what?”

“Sorry for making you stand there like that. I'm such a mess,” she wiped her eyes with the back of a hand. 

“You don't have to apologise for me doing my job,” he replied. 

“At least you're talking to me again huh big guy,” she gave him a weak smile. 

He shrugged and looked away from her out over the water as he drew on his cigarette. Her lipstick was now smeared on her chin and she rubbed at it with her thumb looking at her reflection in her pipboy screen. She stood shivering in the cold with her eyes closed listening to the lapping water to ground herself.

“I think we should call it a night,” she said finally as he finished his smoke. 

“Sure,” Charon said shortly as he flicked the remainder of the cigarette into the water.

“I think I saw a sign for a hotel, let's go,” she straightened her jacket. 

In turn the tops of her breasts jiggled and Charon caught himself watching for a moment. He couldn't blame the guys in the bar, he knew that from the tight feeling in his underwear. How the fuck he could stand by a girl as she threw her guts up and still get a semi over her moments later was beyond him. 

They went back inside and made their way in the direction of the hotel guided by the signs on the walls. The robot on the desk didn't seem to discriminate as Charon had feared the hotel may do against his kind, but as was their luck today there was only one room available. Isadora just shrugged and paid the robot, also purchasing 6 bottles of purified water and 6 dirty. When they got into the room Charon stood awkwardly by the door as she shrugged off her jacket and left it on the floor where it fell. He looked down and saw the name Butch written on the tag in marker pen, and kicked it with his toe away from him. Of course it belonged to the barber. She meanwhile was kicking off her boots. 

“You take the bed, I'll take the couch,” she said to Charon.

“You should have the bed smoothskin,” he replied and made his way to the couch but she stood between him and it with her hands on her hips.

“That couch is about 2 feet shorter than you big guy,” she looked up at him with her jaw set.

“I don't mind.”

“I do. You're sleeping in the bed tonight and that is an order my friend,” she crossed her eyes at him and he couldn't help the small smile that gave him after all her negative emotions today. 

“I'll keep watch, you sleep in the bed first,” he grumbled, she was still swaying with intoxication even with the small sobering up she'd done.

“Nuh-uh we're safe here. Now go and get into that bed,” she pointed at it imperiously. 

He shook his head, “Crazy smoothskin.”

She stuck her tongue out at him for the second time that night but lay herself down on the couch. Charon resigned himself to defeat and stripped off his armor with his back to her, climbing into the bed in his t shirt and leather trousers. They would be sweaty and uncomfortable but he refused to strip to his boxers the way he did at the house in Megaton where he had his privacy. Isadora made small sounds as she settled to sleep. He flicked off the light and lay with his back to her as he drifted off too. 

A couple of hours in Isadora woke up cold, bleary eyed and still very much drunk. She got to her feet and the room lurched. Her hand pressed to her temple and she stumbled her way to the bathroom to empty her bladder. When that job was over she fished around the dark room for one of her new bottles of water and a Buffout pill. She took the pill with a generous glug of water before undoing and shimmying out of her binding uncomfortable jeans. Isadora climbed into the bed and covered herself with the scratchy but reasonably clean blankets. She was back asleep and snoring gently in moments. Charon felt her weight get into the bed and his body stiffened but she'd ordered him to sleep in the bed and he was powerless. Once he was sure she was asleep he shifted himself to the very edge of the matress and fell into fitfull sleep.


	12. 12

When Charon awoke he immediately felt something was off. A warm soft pressure on his wrist under the blankets. He remembered Isadora climbing into bed with him in the early hours, and he looked over at her now. It was no closer than they were most of the time on their bedrolls out in the wastes he thought, but sharing blankets felt intimate. She was facing him, on her stomach with one leg over the top of the blankets. He could see her blue Vault-tec issue panties with their faded yellow waistband. Her sleeping face was peaceful and she looked her age aside from the couple of scars that marred her skin. Her fingers gently drew a lazy circle on the inside of his wrist the way he'd seen her do on his shotgun in her sleep. In a moment he realised why her hand was on him, but he made no move to unlatch her. Her skin was calloused but her fingertips felt like silk against his ruined flesh. If the natural effects of the morning hadn't already been causing an uncomfortable pressure in his tight leather pants the scantily clad girl caressing his skin did. She shifted and he saw her nipples pressing hard through her tank top. This was getting out of hand, he thought. He knew he could get up but he couldn't bring himself to. 

He had to shift his hips against the tortuously tight leather against his erection but in doing so she made a small sound and started to stir. Charon froze. The morning came to Isadora with a mouth as dry as 3-day old mirelurk cakes, no headache thanks to the early hour Buffout but a full bladder. She groaned and dragged herself out of bed without opening her eyes properly, stumbling to the bathroom and closing the door after her. Charon felt her hand leave his wrist acutely and jumped out of the bed as soon as she was gone. He adjusted himself so his predicament was less obvious since it showed no signs of going away. 

Isadora reappeared a few minutes later with a toothbrush in hand and foam dripping from the corner of her mouth. Charon's mutinous body shivered at her stood in front of him without putting any other clothes on. She didn't even seem to register it and scrubbed her teeth with the toothbrush as she looked around the room for the bra she'd jettisoned at some point in the night. Of course, he thought, she didn't even think of him as a man in that way. Why would she think twice about her state of undress in his presence. He located a bottle of dirty water and drank deeply from it as he willed his hard-on away. 

“You wanna go get us some breakfast big guy?” she asked as she dug in her pack for soap, “I'm gonna take a shower.”

He wasn't sure he trusted his voice as he gazed at the heft of her breasts against the cloth when she bent over. 

“Do you mind?”

His face burned when he thought he was caught peeping but he realised from her warm expression she meant did he mind going on a food run. 

“As you wish,” he answered mechanically and retrieved a bag of caps from his pack. She insisted he always had funds on him for anything he may want or need. 

Isadora watched him leave, and under the warm water of the shower she watched the blood swirl down out of her hair and down the drain. He seemed off with her, but she guessed that was probably down to her behaviour the night before. It's not like he was ever the most loquacious companion. 

Charon chose mirelurk omelettes and brahmin sausage for their breakfasts at the Galley, and on his way out of the market he spotted the men from last night. 'Jimmy' clocked him as he passed the pool table where they congregated and he groaned.  
“Hey you! Zombie!” the kid shouted and Charon grit his teeth. 

The slur held no weight with him any more but he knew from experience Isadora would have broken the guys nose for it. Charon ignored the call.

“Where's Is? Little prick-tease owes me a night in the Weatherly.”

Charon stopped at that and turned to stare the guy down. His friends quickly went from boisterous back up to quiet nerves.

“She's in our room at the Weatherly, taking a shower,” Charon answered. The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. Well, it was technically true he supposed.

The word 'our' held it's desired meaning though and disgust crossed Jimmy's face along with his bruised ego. Charon smirked, turning away again and going back to their room with their breakfast. 

Is was clean and redressed waiting for him with their packs ready to go when they finished their meal. 

“What took you so long big guy?” she asked as she gratefully took her package of food from him, “Oooh sausage!”

She dug in straight away, sitting down at the table as she did. He took the seat opposite and placed his breakfast down before replying, “Ran in to your friends from last night.”

“Ugh,” she cringed, “Sorry. I-”

“You don't have to explain yourself to me,” Charon cut her off. He didn't want to know what her reasons were. Horny and looking for a quick lay, angry, upset – it made no difference to him he told himself. 

“But I left you stood over there alone all night. The girls in the corner were looking at you you know, you could have gone to talk to them,” she watched his reaction through her eyelashes as she ate. 

He blew air out of his nostrils, “I was keeping watch over your safety.”

“Sorry to be such a cock-block then,” she crossed her eyes at him. 

Charon rolled his eyes back at her and ate without answering. She watched him for a moment or so, he felt her eyes on him. What was she looking for? Annoyance? Interest in getting his dick wet while he had a job to do? He couldn't tell. 

When they finished she threw the wrappings in the trash and he took his pack, opening the door for her. She slipped out under his muscular arm and breathed in his scent as she passed. Gun oil and now cigarette smoke. It stirred something in her, whether that was the memory of the tobacco smell on Butch's skin she wasn't sure. They went to the market where she batted her eyelashes at Flak to get a good deal on ammo and a quick repair for her assault rifle. At Potomac Attire she dug through his wares in search of the large t-shirts with prewar logos on that she collected for round the house. An old red one with Bottle and Cappy emblazoned on the chest caught her eye, but it was a lot smaller than she usually went for. She bought it anyway and packed it away.  
On their way out of the market they passed the group of guys from last night talking to Shrapnel. She ducked her head to avoid being spotted, hurrying to the stairs. Charon saw them too, and as they got to the steps he boldly placed a hand at the small of Isadora's back to guide her onto the first one. She looked at him over her shoulder but his face was unreadable. Over his head she met Jimmy's eye, which travelled down to Charon's hand on her and he curled his lip. She was sure she heard the word “ghoulfucker” from the group. Her shoulders tensed at that, she'd had the slur hurled at her a couple of times travelling with Charon. They must have seen them leave the Weatherly together. What she couldn't understand was why anyone cared what consenting adults got up to in their own bedrooms, whether or not that was the case for them. 

“Bigots,” she sighed, “I need to choose my drinking buddies better.”

Charon rumbled a small chuckle at that, and the sound gave Isadora a lovely warm feeling. 

They left Rivet City behind and followed the river in the general direction of the Jefferson Memorial. Charon had assumed that was where they would go next when Dr. Li said about it the day before. He rolled his shoulders to loosen up, wriggling his left ankle to feel his combat knife tucked in his boot. The memorial was crawling with muties, had been for years. He knew she could handle herself well enough in a fight but this would be a tough one. She drifted along by his side, humming the tune of a song from the jukebox last night – Civilization. At the last moment he realised she was veering off, not directed towards the memorial after all. He looked down at her questioningly but she didn't look up from fiddling with her pipboy.  
He thought about asking her what the plan was but couldn't bring himself to be so forward. It turned out he could share a bed with her for the night but didn't dare ask her a question about her motives. He was ordered to sleep in the bed though, he rationalised to himself. 

The girl started chattering to him as she usually did when they reached a bridge across the Potomac and he surprised himself by being glad of it. It was clear now they weren't going to the Memorial. Isadora refused to think about it, instead looking at a blinking marker in her PipBoy map up North. It had been put in there by Lucy West and she'd decided now was the perfect time to go and see what was happening up in Arefu. 

She told Charon her intentions as they ate their dinner later where they camped at an old store with a gaping hole where the window had been. He didn't question why she was ignoring the lead on her father to her face, but he wondered about it. What was going on in that head of hers? She switched subjects suddenly, regaling him with the tale of her clearing this place out of the Raider's whose decorative flair still adorned the walls and ceilings. The rotting corpses were gone though, just the meat hooks remained to tell of their existence. She took the first rest, and by routine Charon edged his shotgun within her reach. She fell asleep with the dying firelight on her face and her fingers on the rough butt of his favoured weapon. 

Later, Charon shifted himself to lie on his side when he stubbed out a finished cigarette. He watched as her sleeping fingers sporadically drew circles on the shotgun and he felt heat creep up his neck at how she'd done the same to his wrist that morning. With her he could feel his boldness growing, he had never been so forward as to lay a hand on an employer the way he did for the benefit of the men in Rivet City. It couldn't be excused as critical for her safety, he knew that. She hadn't flinched though, nor berated him. The girl had told him before she had no issue with him touching her, and he thought back to how comfortable she had been with him in the hotel room with next to nothing on. What had she meant by the comment about the ghoulettes in the bar too? Her gaze on him had felt expectant like she was testing his reaction. For what, he couldn't say. 

He ached as he watched her twitching fingers circle the bumps in the stock of his shotgun. It was almost like he couldn't help himself as he gingerly slid the shotgun away from her, her empty hand slipping onto the ancient linoleum and a deep frown forming on her face. Holding his breath without even realising it, he replaced the shotgun with his own forearm. Her fingers quickly found it and the warm soft feeling was agonising but he craved it. If she woke up and saw it, what would she say he wondered. She let out a soft sigh and her fingers recovered their lazy movements, stilling sometimes for half an hour or more. Eventually they drifted up past the sensitive inside of his wrist and drew patterns along the rest of his forearm. He leaned heavily against the shelving unit they were sheltered by and stifled a groan of pleasure. The feeling was gentle and comforting, not inherently sexual. When was he last touched tenderly? Aside from her caring for his burn. A couple of times he thought she was stirring and froze, but she didn't awake until 5am and he had chance to pull his arm away. She looked at him blearily and complained that he hadn't woken her up for her watch shift. Charon gazed into her eyes for a second before he felt his burning shame at essentially tricking her into touching him.


	13. 13

10 days later they crested the hill near the Super Duper Mart with aching feet and a new bulletwound each. Is took a slug in her shoulder from a raider, while Charon caught a graze on the side of his neck. Charon had dug the bullet out for her with sure and practised fingers, and she'd tried to push away the heat she felt when his cheek was within inches of hers. A stimpak had healed it up nicely to a small scar.  
Days later after another fight he had refused any attention except for the healing salve she'd used on his burn earlier in the month. It was a mistake, and he wished he'd taken the stimpak option when her cool soft fingers had caressed his neck. Torture, he groaned and she'd taken it as pain. He wasn't sure when exactly he'd started having this issue with his cock getting hard every time he was around her but it just seemed to be getting worse. Every touch she meant nothing by, and every time she looked up at him with those big brown eyes and called him Big Guy was driving him to distraction.  
He thought the problem was his alone, but Isadora knew herself and was comfortable enough with herself to admit she could feel the way he affected her. It was unusual, she supposed but the old ghoul was giving her flutters and dirty thoughts more than she cared to admit. That was intertwined with violence too closely for her liking as well, she felt the uncomfortable slick feeling in her underwear more than once after watching him kill someone with a beautiful grace. Was this the effect of the wasteland, her new ability to see his deadliness as extremely erotic? She spent evenings wondering what the parts of him she hadn't seen looked like. Travelling and fighting together for weeks on end afforded her the bonus of seeing him in varying states of undress as she was sure it had the other way round although she doubted he cared. It was normal for her after all, two decades of little privacy in the vault hardened her to it. But when Charon had lifted his shirt off to wash molerat guts off it she'd gaped wide-eyed, hungrily raking her eyes over every inch of rock hard muscle. His back was the thing that truly got her going, the tight width of his shoulderblades, one of which still retained some creamy but scarred flesh. Seeing the way the muscles moved and rippled as he lifted something or leaned one way or the other. A blush crept up her neck thinking about it now. 

She wasn't given long to muse before a shot pierced the cracked asphalt near her foot. Her eyes darted around quickly to find the threat, Charon was ahead of her and his shotgun was already off his back as she pulled her rifle from hers.  
The men seemed to come from the rocks, three of them in black armor with some sort of symbol painted on the chest. 

“Well if it isn't the hero of the wastes and her overcooked friend,” one of the men spat. 

Never one to wait for the first blow, Charon grabbed the man by the arms and drove his knee in to his ribs hard. The one on the right joined the scuffle and the one on the left turned his attention to Is. She pulled her 10mm from her thigh and let off a shot square in his chest. The combat armor took it but he was knocked backwards, and she took the opportunity but missed a shot at his head. It was a second too long before she was aiming again and he had her wrist in his hand. He yanked it hard and she crashed into him, but her recovery was quick and she drew her fist back before decking him in the face as hard as she could. He twisted and let go of her wrist, spitting blood on the asphalt.  
Charon had his combat knife out of his boot and jammed it right in the sweetspot just below the first guys chestplate. He twisted it viciously and the man gargled a scream before staggering backwards. The other guy hammered a baseball bat against Charon's back and he almost faltered with a grunt. He turned and wrenched the bat away from the guy before bashing him in the knee. He fell onto the other knee with a yowl of pain and Charon went to town, swinging the bat and hitting him as many times as possible before his head collapsed like a soft melon or the other guy got up whichever came first. It was the guy's recovery that won out although the sack of broken bones and meat that lay on the ground bleeding wasn't getting up any time soon. He hazarded a glance at Isadora over the guys shoulder just in time to see her opponent land a nasty uppercut on her jaw. Her teeth cracked together and she saw stars for a moment. 

He moved to help her but the guy he'd stabbed had his gun in his hand and let off a shot that grazed Charon's thigh. He hissed at the pain and grabbed the mercenary by the throat, lifting him off the ground. Charon brought the barrel of his shotgun right under the mans chin and pulled the trigger. His head exloded in a pink mist and brain and skull splattered Charon's armor. Isadora saw this out of the corner of her eye and felt the way her stomach flipped when Charon threw the man a few feet away like a ragdoll. The distraction cost her in a blow to her injured shoulder and she let out a yelp. She grabbed her combat knife from her boot and rushed the man, slicing and stabbing wherever she could while he dealt body-shots with his fists. A red and purple arm appeared around the man's neck tightly and he was bent backwards with Charon's bracer digging into his throat. Isadora spat blood onto the asphalt as she advanced on the mercenary.  
“It was just a job,” the guy choked out against Charon's hard arm. 

Charon watched as the girl winced, hand going to her ribs where the man had most likely cracked at least one with his punches. He tightened his arm and felt the man's throat hard under the constriction. Isadora wasn't interested in what the soldier had to say, and drove her blade up through his chin. He gargled and foamed red blood from his mouth before she yanked her knife back and slit his throat. Charon watched enraptured, and as he dropped the corpse he realised his cock was rock hard. Isadora looked at him with her chest heaving eratically.

“Welcome back to the neighbourhood huh,” her breathing was shallow and she fell to her knees.

He dropped down with her, hand on her shoulder, “Smoothskin?”

“I'm fine,” she said with some effort, “bastard just got me good in the ribs.”

She got back to her feet shakily but every breath was like fire, “Just give me a stimpak and we can head to Arefu.” 

“We should go home first, you need a rest and I need to look at these injuries. You might even need a doctor,” he said as he retrieved their packs. 

“I'm fine Charon,” she held herself awkwardly and he rolled his eyes at her.

“You asked me to keep you safe. That means getting you care if you need it. We should go home, it's close,” he argued with her and in the back of his mind wondered since when he argued with contract-holders. 

“Is that an order?” she asked and tried to laugh but it was like needles in her core. 

He rolled his jaw, “Yes, it is. Home.”

She held her hands up and let him inject her with a stimpak to start the healing off until they got back to Megaton... home. He'd called it home. Isadora looked at him warmly, she loved that he thought of it as home. The cold feeling of the medicine going into her system gave her a bit of a boost but what she really needed was Med-X. Unfortunately they'd totally blanked on buying any when getting supplies after she used their last one on his burn. There was a stock of them at their house though, and that gave her renewed strength to trudge on. 

About halfway there she swayed dangerously again and Charon took her arm, looping it over his shoulder and put his arm around her back. He had to bend uncomfortably to support her that way but his training took care of that. His muscles protested to the weight of both packs on one shoulder and hers on the other but he grit his teeth and set his jaw, determined to get her home safely. 

The doors to the town opened for them and he hurried her to their home. He dropped the packs unceremoniously on the metal floor and the robot came to see who was there before busying itself with dusting. 

“I could use a Med-X,” she leaned on him heavily now. 

He looked around for a moment and in that time she slumped a little more. Charon gripped her around the waist with a hand each side and lifted her to sit on the table he used to clean his guns. Aside from the pain, the feeling of Charon's hands clasping her waist and lifting her so easily had her head swimming. Charon went to find the Med-X and injected her with it when he returned. 

“I need to check your ribs,” he said as he settled beween her legs that dangled off the edge of the table. Her thighs pressed against his and he felt his cock waking back up. The coil of tension in his stomach just wound tighter from earlier when he'd watched her kill. 

She understood what he was saying and unzipped her armored vaultsuit, dropping it to her waist. His eyes watched as she pulled the zip down, his palms feeling sweaty. This was getting out of hand, he thought again. Her head started to get fuzzy from the Med-X high. He lifted her tanktop up to get access to her ribs, acutely aware of how much of her flesh was on show to him. Her stomach still had that little layer of padding from the Vault that Amata had always given her back-handed compliments about. “Oh you're so lucky to be chubby and cute, I'm so skinny...” she'd said on more than one occasion. 

Isadora shivered at the feeling of his fingers on her stomach, so rough they left fire in their wake. It had heat spreading up her neck and she squeezed her thighs together on instinct but that just clamped him in place between her legs. He inhaled sharply but kept on inspecting the fresh angry purple bruising on her ribcage, tenderly pressing his fingers in and taking note of the small noises of pain she made. At least he took it as pain, in reality she was like a dog in heat whimpering at his touch. It was all so intimate, his massive form between her thighs leaning down to drum his fingers along her ribs. So much more intense thanks to the drugs. 

She hissed in pain though when he found the cracked rib, it had started healing from the initial stimpak but now he reached for another and injected it closer to the actual problem. She sighed in pleasure at the cool feeling sweeping through her. Everything felt more than she could take but not enough all at once, his hand on her skin and his big strong thighs against hers. 

“You ok smoothskin?” he asked in a strained voice. 

His voice rumbled deliciously through her and she felt herself relax backwards a little, which he took for light headedness and caught her with a hand on the small of her back to save her smacking her head into the wall. 

“I'm amaaaazing,” she drawled at him breathily and he couldn't help but see the blush on her cheeks. This was the voice the men she charmed got from her, but it was the first time she'd directed it at him.

It caused dangerous thoughts to form in his head that just made his hard cock more insistent, the way their bodies currently sat it was so close to erotic that his head felt full of cotton wool. He shook imperceptibly, hand still against her ribs but now he felt painfully aware of how close his thumb sat to the band of her bra. The way she tightened her thighs against him and the blush had him wondering for a second if maybe there was something in it... until he remembered the Med-X. She was flying high and he couldn't in good conscience read anything into the way she moved under his touch. It didn't stop all the blood in his body from only congregating in one place though, and his hips flexed without his permission. 

She beamed at him dreamily when she felt it, and he saw that her tooth was chipped. From the uppercut, he thought. 

“Your tooth is chipped,” he said quietly. 

Isadora ran her tongue along her lip, “Yeah some of it's in my lip.” A tiny giggle at the end nonsensically thanks to the Med-X.

“I should check that,” he frowned and his hand went from her ribs to cup her jaw and tilt her head up to him. 

Jesus this was too much, he thought when she looked at him with dilated pupils through her eyelashes. His erection twitched agonisingly in his aged underwear. His thumb opened her mouth slightly so he could inspect her plump bottom lip for pieces of tooth. She only just stopped a moan from escaping her mouth at the touch, and her thighs tightened again. He was leaning over her and one hand held her up while the other probed her lip. She could feel the gritty bits of her broken tooth with her tongue as she ran it along the inside of her lip until it bumped where his thumb was. His eyes widened and he felt everything in him tense at the sight of it. Her eyes fluttered closed and in a moment of pure intoxication from either his proximity or the medicine she darted her tongue out along his thumb before closing her lips around the tip of it suddenly. 

This was too much. Charon watched helplessly and grit his teeth as his hips bucked of their own accord. The warm wetness of her mouth was consuming and he came hard in his pants like a virgin Immediately shame burned his entire body. She didn't seem to have noticed anything with her eyes closed and head in the clouds. He pulled his hand away from her like she'd burned him. He was disgusted with himself, and angry at her for the effect she was having on him. His old boxers were a mess with fast-cooling seed and he stepped back and away from her like he hated her. 

“Jesus Isadora,” he growled, “I'm not one of your playthings.”

Her eyes snapped open but she was still out of it from the drugs, “Huh?”

“I'm going to bed. Your ribs will be fine now Mistress.” he grunted at her and took the steps two at a time in his anger before throwing himself down onto his bed in his full armor. 

Isadora sagged backwards against the wall of the shack in total intoxicated confusion. She wouldn't remember any of it, she never did remember after using Chems. She finally pulled herself up onto her feet and moved herself to lie on the couch. Wandsworth excused himself upstairs to charge. Her thighs were slick with arousal, and she skipped her fingers down into her underwear to relieve the massive tension she felt in every inch of her body to a quiet but intense orgasm. She fell into strung-out sleep with her hand still under the waistband of her panties.


	14. 14

Charon awoke to a knock on his door. He'd slept on top of the sheets still in his armour, and his body ached everywhere for it. When he shifted his leg a sharp pain reminded him of the bullet that had glanced his thigh. 

“Charon?” a small voice came from the other side of the door. 

The sound was at once endearing and irritating to him, the stiff feeling of dried shame in his underwear brought back the night before with mortifying clarity. He rolled to sit up and opened the door. She stood before him looking more than a little hungover from the chems, wearing her vaultsuit tied round her waist by it's sleeves. 

He looked down at her impassively, “Yes?”

She thought nothing of his curtness, he could be like that sometimes. The last she remembered of the night before was his fingers on her ribs after he lifted her onto the table. The discarded syringes on the floor by the table answered her questions for her. How his fingers against her skin had felt was a different story, she remembered with a blush. He was all but glaring at her now.

“You want some breakfast big guy?” she asked, “I was gonna go down to see Jenny Stahl for some food.”

Charon rolled his jaw, eyeing her suspiciously – did she not remember what she did last night? Did she know and didn't care? Was he now her substitute for the men she worked up and left wanting? A replacement for the starry eyed men who shivered when her hand trailed along their chest like he'd seen her do on occasion. A toy to alleviate her boredom since he had nothing to give her which was her only other reason for her teasing ways. No part of him registered the rosy cheeks she had right now looking up at him expectantly, the same as it hadn't noticed her eyes on him for the past few weeks. 

“You're bleeding,” he stated in monotone.

She followed his gaze down to her shoulder where the attacker yesterday had reopened her healing bulletwound, “Shit. Who were those guys anyway?”

The massive ghoul shrugged and leaned against his door frame, he hadn't recognised their insignia but staying cooped up in Underworld for years meant he was out of touch with the wasteland in a lot of ways. He didn't like what that one had said about it being a job though, that suggested they were hired for the attempt on her life. Regardless of how unsure he now felt of her, her protection was his top priority at all times. 

“I might go back to the Super-Duper Mart and see if I can find anything on them,” she mused. 

“No. I will go.” he pushed off the door frame and went to retrieve his shotgun. 

Isadora watched him for a moment, “Did you sleep in your armour?”

He stopped where he stood and chose his words carefully, still unsure if she was playing a game with him, “Yes.”

“Were you that tired? I woke up on the couch, must have crashed after all those chems,” she ran a hand through her mussed hair. 

“I...” he started but didn't know how to finish. Part of him wanted to make a cruel comment about her behaviour but some small part of him was buying her apparent lack of memory, “I'm going to head out and search what's left of those mercenaries.”

She stepped out of his way and called to him as he opened the front door, “Be careful, come home in one piece.”

He stiffened at that, her words seemed genuinely tender as though she cared about his wellbeing. Charon didn't miss the small ways she attended to his comfort, whether with the Dirty Water or something else. That didn't mean he wasn't mistrustful of her intentions now though – what was her angle? Had she felt the shift in his attentions toward her? Did she know he found himself wondering with more and more frequency just how her body's curves would feel against him... in his hands... under him.   
Isadora watched as he closed the door heavily, not a slam but not his usual care either. She wondered if he was being off with her again, but she had the usual existential anxious feeling after a high and brushed it off as that. She decided to bathe after lifting her arm and being smacked in the face with the pungent aroma of a week without a proper wash. The water system in Megaton was rudimentary...but it did mean each house had a flow of lukewarm water for a shower. After she was cleaned she made her way downstairs wrapped in her towel, not too worried about her state of undress since Charon would probably be gone for an hour at least. She retrieved her pack and took it upstairs to unpack. Since they were home she might as well clean her clothes and restock to carry on to Arefu. She kept her new knowledge of her Dad's possible whereabouts pushed to the back of her mind in a box marked 'Shit I'm not dealing with right now'. 

She dressed then pottered about soaking blood and gore out of hers and Charon's clothing in a big tub of Abraxo, restocking Ammo bags and her first aid kit. Her hunger from before reminded her of it's existence and she snacked on Dandy Boy Apples, deciding to wait for Charon to get back for a real meal. She'd cook his favourite, she resolved and went to search her shelves for Salisbury Steak and Instamash. He hadn't said it was his favourite, she'd just noticed he ate it with more gusto than anything else. She felt lonely without his quiet presence in the house, or by her side for that matter. In at least six weeks, the longest she'd been without him close was bathroom breaks. And then when she'd see him there waiting for her on her return... the butterflies in her stomach reminded her of her schoolgirl crushes. Since she'd slowly realised the effect Charon was having on her she thought of Butch less and less. It seemed increasingly to her like two kids fooling around. That was exactly what it was she supposed but at the time it had felt real. It was real. She just wasn't that girl giddily getting ready for him to pick her up for prom any more. Isadora settled herself on the couch to play a game idly on her pipboy and wait for him to get back. 

He breathed deeply the 'fresh' air, filling his lungs and exhaling in some semblance of contentedness. Charon enjoyed the solitary time, his head finally feeling a little less busy. Balancing his overwhelming desires to both protect and fuck the smoothskin raw was exhausting. A passing pair of raiders gave him an even better opportunity to clear his thoughts as he neared the supermarket. The fight was easy, both of them too strung out on Jet to even put up much resistance. It felt good to fight with his hands again, and the world felt like it was back on it's axis as they both lay dead in his wake. When he found the corpses of the mercenaries they'd been picked clean of just about everything, but in one's pocket he discovered a scrap of paper. Scrawled on it was Isadora's name, a price, and some drivel about her doing too much good. 

Charon grit his teeth, this was a hit. The insignia he'd seen on their armor suggested an organisation. He didn't like this. There would be more where this group came from. In a flash it occurred to him Isadora was now home alone, and these guys would overpower even her augmented strength. He'd seen strange bumpy scars on her spine one day when she stretched to reach something. Not for a moment would he ask her about them, but he remembered the conversation they'd had about her dad's 'enhancements'. He took off at a brisk jog home, no point running he would wear himself out but he now felt an overpowering need to be there protecting her. His training consumed everything, taking over where his leg hurt or his neck ached. It still hurt, he just powered through it. With Isadora he was free to work out when he felt necessary unlike when Azrukhal deigned to allow it, and his cardio had vastly improved since her employment. His lungs still burned by the time he was at the gates of the town though. He was let in by Stockholm, who had been convinced by Isadora and a gently placed hand on his thigh that he should trust Charon as he trusted her. 

The massive ghoul burst through the door and she let out a yelp of surprise, springing up from where she sat. Her weight was shifted on to her back foot, fist drawn back in the stance he'd taught her one day in the winter sun. He watched as she relaxed when she realised it was him, her expression softening maddeningly. 

“Jesus big guy where's the fire?” she asked with a breathless laugh. 

Charon took in her appearance, the tight red NukaWorld Tshirt she'd bought in Rivet City clinging to every bump of her body. It had darker patches where her wet hair had dripped around her shoulders. It tortured him with how it seemed painted onto her heaving chest.

“They were hired to attack you. I feared they...” he stopped himself before his words veered too close to tender, “I thought more may come for you.”

She took the slip of paper from him and studied it, her brows knitting together. He went upstairs to finally wash off the remnants of last night and today's fight when he was sure the house was secure. He refused to look down at his ruined body as he washed the dried semen from his belly and thighs. Charon realised he had forgotten to bring new clothes into the makeshift bathroom with him too late. He wrapped a threadbare towel around his hips, the only option other than putting dirty clothes back on. Just as he stepped out of the bathroom he regretted his decision, the girl was sat cross-legged on the floor outside his bedroom door. She looked up at him and he didn't miss the way her eyes took in every inch of his exposed torso. 

Isadora's mouth went dry as she ate up the sight of him, the remnants of his red hair flopping damp in his eyes. Every bit of exposed muscle or flesh made her ache to touch it. 

“What?” he asked grumpily, hurrying past her into his bedroom. 

“I'm gonna cook some lunch then I think we should head out to Arefu. I want to get there in the next three days.”

He burned in shame at his ruined body as he got dressed, “As you wish.”

She wanted to say something else, but no words came to her so she went downstairs to cook. When he reappeared he didn't look her in the eye much, just sat down to eat with her at the table she'd been sat on the night before. Memories swam in both their minds, Isadora's of how he'd touched her and Charon's of how he'd humiliated himself like a squeaky-voiced teen coming in his pants at the mere touch of a pretty girl. 

Isadora wanted to break the weird atmosphere between them, and as she thought of ways to it occurred to her the way she'd reached him in the early days. They shared a similar sense of humour, and she tentatively made a move towards it.

“You want me to lube up Betty?” Isadora asked him as she finished her meal.

His eyes shot up to meet hers, “Betty?”

“Yeah,” she motioned towards his shotgun leaning close by. He oriented it wherever he needed it to be within reach. 

He snorted a laugh, “Betty? You aren't naming my shotgun Betty. Marilyn is ridiculous enough”

She grinned at him, gleeful that he was playing along, her chipped tooth flashing at him for a moment, “Oh yes I am. You can't stop me. Also, don't bring my Marilyn into this she's done nothing wrong.”

“Wanna bet?” he asked, and it was a nice feeling for both to drop back into the banter they shared occasionally. Like things might be ok, and might get back to normal. 

“50 caps says you're calling that shotgun Betty in a months time,” she held her hand out to him. 

He chuckled, “You're on for that one smoothskin. Never gonna happen.”

His hand closed around hers, engulfing it and shaking it sharply.

“So do you want me to lube Betty up or not?” she asked, a wicked smile on her face.

Charon rolled his eyes at her, “Nah, leave that to me. I always make sure she's well lubed and ready.”

She laughed heartily at that and he couldn't help but twitch his mouth into a smirk. He'd felt how she brought him out of his shell slightly in the early days with this shared laughter, and it had formed the basis for how they interacted further down the line. He felt almost like just a travelling companion when they sat here passing innuendo or sarcasm back and forth.

“Bet you say that to all the girls, big guy,” she crossed her eyes at him goofily. 

He took her plate away, “You have no idea, doll.” It was bold, but somehow it felt right to him as he tested out the name in answer to her affectionate nickname for him. 

After he'd washed the dishes they armoured up and took up their packs ready to head to Arefu and see what was happening. As the door shut and locked on their house in Megaton it was like a spell was broken, the tension from the last night and morning a memory. They fell back into rhythm, him staying a pace behind her watching for danger as she scouted out their path to deliver Lucy's letter.


	15. 15

They trudged back to Megaton when finally the Arefu situation was resolved. It felt never ending, snowballing into a more convoluted problem every time she talked to someone else. Backwards and forwards they'd gone trying to solve the problems and come to an arrangement. Charon didn't really understand why she got involved in everyone else's issues but when it had finally been resolved with The Family guarding Arefu in return for blood packs she had a satisfied glow and he supposed that was enough justification. His mistrust of her had faded into the background of his mind over the days of travelling when she showed no signs of ulterior motives in how she dealt with him.

“Vampire cannibals... just when you thought the wasteland couldn't get weirder,” Is blew her hair out of her eyes incredulously as they walked. 

“No one ever said it would be boring,” he replied, shifting his pack onto his other shoulder and rolling the newly free one to get some feeling back. 

“I need to get better at disarming traps,” she mused as she swigged a bottle of water.

“You need to get better at stealth full stop,” he chided, “You're about as subtle as a brahmin.”

“Bit rude,” she commented but she was laughing, “Why be subtle when you can just kick the door in?”

He blew air out of his cheeks, he'd always been quick to draw the first blood but also he knew stealth won most situations. “You could avoid injury if you stopped storming in all guns blazing.”

“I dunno, there's something fun about barrelling in like 'Hey I'm King Thick-Dick of Fuck-You Mountain and I'm here to tear you a new asshole',” she shrugged with a smirk. 

Charon couldn't help but chuckle at that ridiculous statement, “You're crazy.”

“Probably. I can be stealthy when I want to you know big guy,” she offered him some Mirelurk jerky she'd got from Karen Shenzy. 

He waved a hand in refusal, “Bullshit.”

“Why would I need stealth now anyway? I've got the biggest badass ever on my team,” she wiggled her eyebrows at him and he rolled his eyes back but felt a smile creeping it's way onto his face.

They continued this easy back and forth all the way back home, and after a shower each Isadora suggested a drink at Moriarty's to relax. She'd switched her armor for a pair of tight jeans and the leather jacket. Charon felt a pang of something when she wore it, but he didn't explore what that feeling was. Certainly not jealousy. He dressed down, relatively for him at least in a black t shirt and just his black leather pants. He left Betty at home, mentally cursing himself for falling into the trap of calling the gun the stupid name. That was gonna cost him some caps if he slipped up when talking to Is. He paused for a second to think about how strange it was that he had his own funds. The combat knife stayed in his left boot, just in case. Is kept her pistol strapped to her thigh and they headed over to Moriarty's. 

Lucy West insisted on paying for their first drinks, and Is got them both a whisky and nuka from Gob. They settled on a pair of bar stools and Is chatted away with the locals, shooting the shit with Gob and trading good-natured barbs with Jericho. The old raider couldn't help but have a soft-spot for the kid, not that he'd ever admit it. Charon stayed reasonably quiet, enjoying his drink. Whisky had always been his drink before, and it had taken a lot less of it back then to get him buzzed. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been drunk. A couple more drinks in and he could see the tell tale signs of Isadora getting tipsy. Her syllables got longer and more drawn out, eyes dreamy and voice giggly. She was loud and funny the way she had been in Rivet City, but without the playing up for male attention. It was nice, he thought as he sipped his drink. 

Charon excused himself to find the bathroom and Isadora watched his back disappear. 

“How much do you think it takes to get Charon drunk?” she asked Gob as she ran a finger around the rim of her glass.

“More booze than I've got, I'd bet,” the ghoul looked at her, “Why? You thinking of trying?”

She shrugged, “He's had four doubles now and not even a wobble. I dunno, be interesting to see wouldn't it?”

Gob laughed, “I can't even imagine him drunk. Shots would probably be the best way to do it.”

“Shots it is,” Isadora flashed the barman a bright smile.

Charon felt eyes on him as he walked around unattended by Isadora. People in the town were becoming more and more accustomed to the sight of him, but not usually without his companion. Some even gave a small wave when they saw him, like the Stahls. He would never have imagined living like this a year ago. He didn't wave back, but he inclined his chin in their direction. After relieving himself he hurried back to the bar. She'd been alone too long for his liking but she'd told him to take care of himself when he had a need for food, drink or the bathroom rather than waiting for the best time. It hadn't been meant as an order but that's how it had been taken.

“There he is!” Isadora cheered when he re-entered and several people drunkenly joined in with her even though they had no idea what they were cheering for. 

He frowned and took his seat back up next to her. She was close enough that he could smell the faint herby smell of the soap she bought from Moira. Gob placed two shots of vodka each in front of him and his employer. He looked sheepish for his part, but Isadora was drumming her hands on the bar.

“Come on big guy, chug!”

He raised a sardonic eyebrow back at her but her excitement was infectious. What the hell, he decided. He'd fought half-cut before and he could do it again if needed. She whooped when he took one of the glasses in his hand and held it up. Is grabbed her own and clinked it against his before throwing her head back and downing the burning liquor. He tipped his own glass down his throat after watching her drink hers, heat blazing through his body. She already had her next shot raised and he dropped his empty glass before knocking the next one against hers wordlessly. This time they drank at the same time. Is gave a choked hiss as she slammed her glass down on the bar. He huffed a laugh at that and she bumped him with her shoulder playfully.  
The drink warmed his entire body, and his judgement must have been impaired because later after Isadora gave him a tone-deaf rendition of Butcher Pete along with the radio, he had two more shots in front of him. The smoothskin grinned drunkenly at him and he picked one up to clink with hers and they drank in unison again. 

Isadora could feel how drunk she was getting, but it was a nice feeling. Before when she'd got drunk in the wasteland it had quickly turned to anxiety about being vulnerable. Here with Charon's knee bumping her thigh though she felt safe to have a good time, and she fully intended on it. He rolled his ankle to feel the reassuring weight of the knife in his boot. An old but familiar foggy feeling was spreading through his head, his jaw relaxed to the point of almost being slack as he laughed at a filthy joke the girl told Jericho. As they took their third and final round of shots he surprised her by giving her a rather enthusiastic “Cheers!” as they knocked their drinks together. The vodka was like paint stripper from age, and it made even him cough when they downed the second shot. 

“Too strong for you big guy?” Isadora laughed loudly at him before jumping to her feet, stool skittering backwards.

His hand was in his boot in moments before she jumped over the bar to reach the radio. Charon didn't have the sobriety to stop himself staring at her ass as she bent over the bar, stretching to turn up the volume on 'Mighty Mighty Man'. He looked up to see Gob looking directly at him, a knowing smile on his face. Charon rolled his shoulders and smirked back with a small shrug. The kid shook his head with a laugh. 

Isadora was back by his side with flushed cheeks from the exertion, singing along loudly. A few patrons joined in with her and she reached an arm around Charon's shoulders to pull him along in her swaying to the music. He shook his head at her but smiled, allowing himself to be dragged into her performance. Charon was tipsy, he could feel it in his heavy limbs. It was a bizarre feeling and a little disconcerting, but the ball of energy by his side pulled him into her infectious orbit. He lit a cigarette and watched as she talked animatedly to a patron about taking down the Behemoth to fix GNR when he mentioned the signal had improved. 

More people gathered round to hear the story, and Is heaved herself up onto the bar to better entertain her audience. Charon watched her wobbly legs warily, ready to catch her if she fell but she managed to stay up there on her feet acting out every part herself. 

“And the Brotherhood were like “woooah” and I was like “aaaah” she enthused. The audience watched intently, but Charon suspected that had more to do with how her chest bounced than her story-telling skills. 

When her story was over people began to cheer and she giggled, bowing deeply for her adoring fans. She came to the edge of the bar and Charon stood to lift her down. No way was he letting her try to climb down with those bandy legs. He gripped her around the waist and she flushed with heat at how easily he lifted her. Charon was more than a little grateful when closing time came. They left the bar and it had gone dark in the time. Stars twinkled above them and Isadora gazed up at them wide eyed. The old ghoul saw the reflection of them in her big brown eyes and couldn't help the way his stomach lurched. She looked at him with a warm smile and his breath caught in his throat. They walked home laughing and joking all the way. 

“Hey big guy, I've got an idea! Wait here,” she disappeared into the house and he waited patiently, his buzz keeping him warm in the cool night air. 

She reappeared with a blanket in her arms, “Can we look at the stars?” 

He looked down at her in surprise, but the way she was looking up at him through her eyelashes she could have asked him for just about anything and he'd have given it to her. 

“Won't get much of a view down here,” he looked up, his tipsiness making him reckless, “Here I'll give you a boost.”

Heaving her onto the roof of their house involved a hell of a lot of banging, squealing and laughing. Loud enough that Jericho stuck his head out of a window and shouted at them to be quiet. In unison they turned and shushed him, Charon still holding one of her ankles as it dangled off the edge of the house. He liked this giddy feeling. 

Isadora sat back and watched as Charon's hands appeared over the lip of the roof and he pulled himself up with seemingly no effort. A tight heat coiled in her stomach. 

“You're so strong,” her voice came out breathless without meaning to and sober she might have cringed at herself. 

He rubbed the back of his neck in what could have been embarrassment before shifting himself next to her where she sat with her back against the outside wall of her bedroom. She pooled the blanket over her outstretched legs and looked up in wonder. 

“My imagination couldn't even get this right. I always wondered what the stars would look like when I was in the vault. I never thought I'd get to see them,” she told him.

Charon nodded though she wasn't looking at him, looking up too and picking out where Orion's Belt lay in the inky canvas of the night sky. 

As though she read his mind, she let out a huff, “I wish I knew the constellations. Paul knew them all, he used to have a star map in his bedroom when we were kids but he grew out of it I guess.”

The massive ghoul leaned just slightly closer to her and raised a hand to point out the one he'd picked out moments before, “That's Orion's Belt.”

She made a noise of genuine pleasure, “What about the Big Dipper? I remember the name of that one.”

He gave a small smile, looking around to find the one she'd asked for. It was way above their heads and he told her so. Charon watched her face brighten every time he picked out another constellation for her to look at and in the moonlight she looked so beautiful to him that it hurt. The buzz was wearing off for Charon, his massive body burning through the alcohol quicker than it did in her. But he didn't need to be drunk to be sitting here now with her. He shivered without realising he'd got cold and she threw some of the blanket over him without looking away from the stars. It was intimate and maddening to be so close for both of them. She was hyper-aware of where his massive thigh sat against hers. He ran out of constellations after a while and they just sat quietly, he could feel her getting drowsier. Charon thought of moving them inside so she could go to bed but the moment was too much and he couldn't bring himself to. 

“I think it's time I went to the Memorial,” she breathed almost too quiet for him to hear. 

Isadora was leaning more heavily against the wall now, head drifting closer to his as her eyes closed sleepily. 

“If that's what you wish, I will follow,” Charon's tongue felt too big for his mouth, the girl torturously close to him again now.

All the dangerous thoughts he'd steered away from but not managed to avoid during their time in Arefu filtered back in. 

“I'm scared Charon,” she breathed but he could feel from the way she sagged against the wall she was almost asleep.

The admission surprised him, gone was King Thick-Dick of Fuck-You Mountain with all her boisterous charm. By his side a nervous young woman dozed off with her head leaned back against their ramshackle home. 

“I'll be by your side,” he murmured but she couldn't hear him. 

Slowly he also drifted into inebriated sleep. In the night she shifted her head down onto his shoulder. Her fingers found the inside of his wrist and drew absent patterns under the blanket and he made a contented sound.


	16. 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry I fell off the face of the earth for a while. Hope some people are still interested!

Charon awoke first with the winter sun in his eyes. They’d shifted in the night he discovered when he felt her soft weight against him. His arm had looped behind her back and she lay turned into him with one leg slung over his and her face buried against his ribs. It felt nice. His neck ached but he didn’t want to move from this almost-embrace they were in. He found he liked the way their legs tangled together, and he wasn’t averse to the way she was almost cradled against him by his arm. His hand had settled on her hip in his sleep and it still rested there but now he was aware of it and it was stirring up those dangerous thoughts again. 

He didn’t have long to think about it, Isadora made a small sound as she woke up. When she first cracked her eyes open she felt panic well up until she felt Charon’s reassuring presence. Wherever they were, she was safe if he was here. It came back to her fairly quickly, they were on their roof in Megaton. She shifted her body against him and he froze, expecting her to jerk away quickly. But she didn’t, she just moved to sit up a little more and lifted her head from where it had nestled against him. Her leg remained over his and his arm stayed around her for the moment. She didn’t outwardly seem bothered by their intimate positioning, which Charon supposed could be loosely described as cuddling, but inside her stomach was full of butterflies. His body felt so large and strong against her, and the arm almost holding her was so deliciously hard, his hand on her hip felt like it was sending static directly into her brain. 

She looked up at him and gave him a sleepy smile, “Morning big guy.”

Her morning vodka-breath brushed across his face. Charon pulled his mouth into something resembling a smile, “Hi”

“Sorry for using you like a pillow,” she had the hint of a blush across her cheeks, but she didn’t make any move to pull away. 

“I don’t mind,” he answered softly and the way he looked at her was unlike any time she’d seen him look at her before.

It made her heart skitter and her thoughts scatter. He gazed at her in the soft morning light, no later than 6am by the suns position. The intense lust was not quite so fiery for him in this moment, just a warm fuzzy feeling settling over him like the blanket. It was the kind of feeling of soft languid kisses, not hair-grabbing teeth-knocking devouring.

On a whim and not entirely of her own volition, Isadora reached up a hand between them to cup his cheek. The ruined flesh was warm and rough under her hand. He froze again, but her expression was unfathomable. It took a lot of effort from him not to push his face further into her soft warm palm. He could feel something building, an invisible presence just on his periphery and it felt like one wrong move might shatter it into a million pieces. She watched his reaction to her touch, it had been said before that he didn’t mind her touching him but this was different and she knew that. Her body felt like it was shaking with the tension on the roof, and she realised they’d been intensely staring into each others eyes for a beat too long. His milky blues searched her almost-black eyes for something but came up empty. 

A strand of her hair fell into her eyes and with the hand not currently occupied being wrapped around her, he boldly reached for it and tucked it behind her ear as he’d seen her do more than once. Her breath caught at the touch and he didn’t miss that, so on his hands way back to where it had been before he brushed his knuckles against her throat. Her leg tightened against his and he became nervous that she would shift and feel the almighty tension she was creating in his boxers. 

Everything was too much, he could feel himself getting drawn into her seductive web but at the same time he could never remember her being this tender with any of those men she charmed. And she’d never looked at them the way she was looking at him right now.

People started to stir in the streets below and at some point one of them might look up and see them in this intimate position, he worried. He didn’t want Isadora being tarnished with the bigoted words used for girls they thought were getting involved with ghouls. He ignored the jealous part of him that wished people might think she and him were like that. The same part of him that had implied it to that lowlife in Rivet City.

Isadora was battling with herself internally. She desperately wanted to tell Charon to kiss her, unable to stand not knowing what his lips felt like any longer. But her asking would be interpreted as an order and she couldn’t bear the thought of that. Him being forced to do something he might not even want to. 

She shifted her hips slightly to alleviate an ache from the way she was lying. His eyes widened momentarily when her body moved against his. How many times had he imagined what her warmth this close would be like and now here they were. The dangerous thoughts were in and making themselves comfortable. His cock twitched in his boxers as he felt the warm weight of her breasts against him but he didn’t dare move to touch her further, terrified she would run a mile screaming. Or worse, laugh at the stupid old ghoul for ever thinking a vaultie like her would be interested in an old corpse like him. 

While all this ran through Charons head, she noted the way his brow furrowed slightly and made a very fast decision that she knew she would most likely regret. She sat up quickly, before pressing her lips to his in a chaste kiss. The texture of his lips was unusual but she found she liked it, she’d spent enough time imagining it after all. But this wasn’t how she’d imagined it all those times. He froze at her unexpected move and his lips were hard as a statues and just as unmoving. When she realised he wasn’t kissing back she drew back in mortification. 

The embrace was broken and he felt her hand leave his cheek acutely. Totally caught off guard, his brain caught up to what was happening but far too late. 

She pressed a couple of fingers to her bottom lip and let out a quiet but heartbreaking, “oh.”

A loud sound down in the streets shook him out of his shock but she had already scrambled to her feet. 

“Wait,” he said mechanically as he reached for her wrist but she had scooped up the blanket and launched herself over the side of the roof landing on her feet with a clang.

Her cheeks burned with embarrassment and she flat refused to let the tears threatening in her vision out. She heard the loud echoing bang of his feet landing on the walkway behind her but hurried herself into their house.

“Smoothskin wait,” he raised his voice but the door closed in his face. 

She chastised herself as she threw the blanket onto the couch. It had all been her imagination, wanting him to want her so badly she actually started reading into his simple acts of courtesy, all just driven by the contract she was sure. Any touch or tender action just a by-product of his employment. She felt sick at herself. How could she face him now. He didn’t give her any time to prepare a story before he threw the front door of the shack open and stormed inside. 

“I was just practicing Charon, ready for bartering at Rivet City next month,” her voice shook. 

“Isadora look at me,” he stood at arms length and she turned to face him sullenly. 

She set her jaw and tried to give an air of nonchalance, “just trying something from a book I read, that’s all.”

As much as he would have found it easier to believe that explanation, he could see it all in the way she held herself now. She avoided his gaze when he knew she always valued eye contact especially from him. She was embarrassed and unsure. It defied any logic he could come up with. He needed to be bold or he was going to regret this forever.

“Bullshit,” he stepped towards her.


	17. 17

Her eyes were as wide as dinnerplates as he came closer, his intense expression playing havoc with her hormones.

“Really Charon, I’m sorry if I overstepped but it was just practice" her voice wavered though and he felt as sure as he was ever going to that she wasn’t being truthful.

“Bullshit,” he repeated and as confidently as he could he reached behind her and placed a hand against the small of her back. 

She made a surprised sound and her stomach felt tied in a thousand knots, “Charon...”

Her breathy voice saying his name had his neck prickling, “Smoothskin.”

In a moment he had pulled her tight against him with the hand at her back and she couldn’t believe how good his hard body felt against hers. He ducked his head down and crushed his lips against hers. A tortured sound left her mouth as she kissed back with gusto. His free hand gathered a knot of her hair and held her head tight against him as he poured everything he could into the kiss. Her head spun at the feeling of his rough lips and when his tongue gingerly slid out into her mouth she gave a deep moan. A ragged sound came from his throat at her soft wet mouth. 

He surged forwards not entirely of his own free will and they were against the stairs next to his gun-maintenance table. His fingers flexed in her hair giving it a slight tug and she hissed.

“Sorry" he spoke against her lips knowing he wasn’t entirely sure how to be gentle with anything anymore. 

She said nothing, just nipped his bottom lip playfully and the kiss turned wild. Teeth knocked together more than once, the smell and taste of their morning breath did nothing to quell the passion. Her hands moved from clutching his black t shirt up to wrap her arms around his neck. The height difference made this murder on his back but he couldn’t bring himself to stop. He moved his hands down to her ass and almost effortlessly lifted her. A surprised squeal came from her and she trailed her lips down from his lips onto his jaw line. 

A low rumbling groan left his lips and he felt dizzy, how was this girl just kissing all the ruined parts of him with no disgust? He wasn’t entirely sure he wasn’t going to wake back up on the roof right now. But her nails dug into his back through the material of his shirt and it reassured him this was very real. 

He held her up against him with his hands on her thighs but it meant they could do none of the exploration that her hands were doing along his shoulders and down his back. His neck was craned back as she placed rough kisses around his throat that ruined him, and he made a decision. Shifting her ass to only rest on one arm he freed his left hand up to sweep everything off of the table beside them. She made an appreciative noise and one of her hands moved up to toy with the remaining hair on the back of his head. 

“Jesus,” he hissed and placed her heavily on the edge of the table before smothering her lips with his. 

A small and very jealous part of Isadora loved that she could feel from his kiss that it had been a very long time since he did anything like this. She could practically feel her pulse in her crotch as he held her tight and kissed her like he wanted to devour her. She tugged at the bottom of his t shirt and he froze momentarily, looking at her unsure. 

“Take it off Charon I want to feel you,” she whined and the look in her eyes was enough to convince him.

He lifted his shirt over his head and there was an agonising pause while her eyes devoured his torso. Her fingers touched his collarbone gently and his expression was pained when he stared into her eyes. 

“You have any idea how hot you are?” she gulped softly, not even really realising she had said it out loud. 

Charon reached a hand back to rub the back of his neck nervously. Her soft fingers were skipping all along the exposed muscle of his abs now and heading dangerously low. He shook with anticipation, tipping his fingers under her chin to face him again so he could kiss her hungrily. Her hands moved to his back again and his down to squeeze her plump muscular thighs. Fuck she felt good. 

She whined against his mouth, arching her back to press her tits against his chest. He needed to feel them, his fingers went to the bottom of her tank top and pulled it over her head with her help. Charon reached behind her but within a moment she recognised he wasn’t going to be able to unhook her bra and reached back to help him. The item fell from her arms and he made a low sound of appreciation when her flesh was exposed to him. Her breasts were as big as her head at least, full and soft. Peaked by small pink nipples that stood rock hard in her arousal. Gingerly he took one of her breasts in a large hand and she hummed in pleasure, hands back at his shoulders. His thumb brushed against her nipple and she gasped into his mouth. 

“You like that?” he asked in a dangerously low voice. 

It went straight through her to her core, rumbling deliciously against every inch of her, “I love the way you touch me"

Isadora moaned loudly when he boldly tweaked the nipple between his ruined fingers, squeezing the other breast in his other hand. He couldn’t help but grind his crotch into hers when she made that sound, eliciting an even sexier sound from her lips into his. One of her hands left his back, sliding around his hip and flattening against his cock which could only be described as rock hard. She palmed him through his pants and he made a tortured noise, hips bucking of their own accord. Her nimble fingers were working on the fastening of his pants, and she slid her hand in once she got them open. His hand left her chest immediately, catching her wrist just as her fingers brushed the exposed muscle just at the base of him. 

She pulled away from their kiss and looked up at him nervously, “What’s wrong big guy?”

“It’s...” his brain was swimming from her touch and all it could really think about was driving deep into her, “Are you sure? It’s not pretty.”

Isadoras expression softened and she reached up to cup his face with his hand still holding her wrist, “You have no idea how badly I’ve wanted this.”

“What?” His breathing was ragged as was hers.

“Charon I’ve been thinking about this for a long time. I don’t just want this, I need it.” She suddenly felt vulnerable with his hand still on her breast and his mistrustful expression.

“Why would you want this? Me?” he asked earnestly. 

Her gaze on him turned hard, and she pushed him to step back from her. He suddenly worried he’d talked her out of it, but watched wide eyed as she dropped off the edge of the table and onto her knees. She shook his hand off her wrist and before he could move to stop her, she had his leathers tugged down to his ankles. His cock stood impossibly hard against his aged underwear and she moaned, actually moaned, at the sight of it. 

She kept her eyes locked on his as she gripped the waistband of his shorts and pulled them down too. His erection sprung free and stood livid purple and red in the cool air. He looked away from her then, refusing to see her disgusted expression. Isadora looked at it in wonder, long and deliciously thick, roped with blue and purple exposed veins. The swollen head glistened with precome and she couldn’t resist darting her tongue out to taste him.   
His body quaked when he felt her wet tongue against his member, a strangled sound tearing from his chest. He looked down at her now and she was staring up at him through her eyelashes as her tongue slid over him. She gripped his cock at the base and his hand knotted in her hair of its own volition. 

“Jesus big guy, that name seems even more fitting now,” she started to stroke him before opening her mouth to take in the head. 

“You don’t have to do that,” he ground out between gritted teeth. Her mouth was hot and wet, tongue pressing against the underside as she sucked. 

She just vibrated a moan around him in answer, one hand gripping the base of his cock and the other holding onto his thigh for support. He tasted strong and coppery, but she found she liked it. He wished he’d had a shower first but the way her eyes fluttered closed as she took as much of him into her mouth as she could told him she didn’t care right now. 

Her ministrations made him shake and thrust forward roughly; when he hit the back of her throat she made a choking sound that had his balls tightening. He gripped her hair tight and pulled his cock out of her mouth. It made a comical pop as it came past her lips and she looked up at him indignantly. 

“It’ll all be over if you keep going, Doll,” his accent rumbled through her deliciously. 

Charon tugged on her hair to get her to her feet again and kissed her deeply. It was wild again, teeth nipping at lips and hands scrambling. The button on her jeans didn’t survive his passion, pinging off and bouncing off a wall. They were pulled down her thighs roughly and he brushed his knuckles up against her underwear. 

She shivered and moaned his name. It was coming back to him slowly, the way to touch and kiss. He’d done plenty of it before the Institute. Sliding his hand into her underwear he made a deep groan of appreciation to find her slick with arousal. His other hand cupped and squeezed her breast as he slid his fingers against her plump folds. Soft curls tickled his flesh and he deliberately ignored the bundle of nerves he knew she wanted him to touch. Instead he delved his middle finger into her soaked entrance. 

He had to grit his teeth at the sound that came from her. Feeling how hot and tight she was he knew straight away he wasn’t going to last if he got his cock inside her. He needed to make her come now because when the main event came he couldn’t bear to leave her wanting. Another finger slipped inside her and she gripped his shoulders tightly with a cry of his name. 

Everything was so much and she couldn’t take it, sagging against him heavily as he crooked his fingers inside her stroking her walls. The texture of his fingers was gorgeous on her insides, like nothing she had ever felt before. When his thumb pressed against her swollen desperate clit she crushed her lips to his to muffle a yell of pleasure.

“Jesus, Charon,” she cried into his mouth as his thumb circled her firmly. 

“I want you to say my name when you come for me,” he said in answer. With that he drew his hand back and flipped her onto the table again, ass hanging off the edge. 

He was on her in a second, and his fingers shredded her underwear, flinging the scraps over his shoulder. Her hand was in his remaining hair and he gripped her hips, pulling her tight against his face. She hid her face shyly and he was surprised at her modesty with the filth that came out of her mouth sometimes. The scent of her was intoxicating, and he couldn’t keep from burying his face in her dripping wet folds. His rough tongue probed into her and she ground her hips up against him.

“Oh my god,” she almost sobbed at the feeling of his tongue on her entrance. The ridges of cartilage where his nose was were perfectly placed to rub against her clit while he lapped at her and it built fast and crazed in her belly. 

“Charon!” she cried, pressing his head tighter against her with the fingers in his hair. 

He made a deep masculine sound of approval that vibrated against her pubic bone and sent shockwaves through her. The hand that wasn’t on his head was gripping the edge of the table until her knuckles were white. The smell of their arousal mixed with the gun oil on the table and she felt totally intoxicated by it. He always smelled of gun oil, and now she was sure she would be dripping wet whenever she smelled it because of this association. 

She tasted just slightly sweet from the Sugar Bombs she constantly ate, and Charon flattened his tongue against her, drawing it along the length of her pulsing pussy and taking a deep breath through his nostrils. Her back arched along with his movement, and he swelled with pride at the effect he had on her. Bet the hairdresser never had her this undone. His cock was achingly hard and desperate to be inside her. 

He brought his hand up to crook a couple of fingers inside her and felt the way her insides tensed and gripped them. She looked down at him with dazed eyes and when he buried his mouth against her clit she threw her head back with a moan. He sucked the bundle of nerves hard, alternating between that and crazed flicking with his tongue. Her legs were over his shoulders and he felt them begin to shake. The gusto he used to eat her made him wonder if maybe he was going feral after the centuries. He needed to fuck her and he needed to make her come before he could. His free hand went down to stroke his cock but it was like an electric shock into his balls and he had to refrain or he’d spill his seed all over the floor before he got to feel her around him. 

His fingers continued their work curling inside her to coax broken sobs from her and he moved his lips away for a moment to kiss and lick at her soft olive skinned thigh. She arched against him again and he sent his free hand up to flick at her nipple. The sound she let out made him bite down on her thigh, and she squealed but he couldn’t tell if it was delight or pain. Perhaps both, he kissed the angry red mark gently before focusing back on her centre. 

“Fuuuck,” she ground out, “I’m gonna come Charon. Please.”

He went into a frenzy then, devouring her like he’d never eaten before in his life. She let out a chorus of cries and curses before her hips started to buck. Her core ground against his rough skin which left red friction marked on her plump thighs. 

“What did I tell you I wanted?” he asked boldly.

With that she came apart, growling his name like a cat in heat as she spasmed. He felt her muscles clenching and pulsing around his fingers and lapped up the sudden gush of her fluids. They were all over his face now, and he never wanted to wash it off. He rode out her climax with soft strokes of his tongue. The memory of this was seared onto his brain, he would never forget every frantic detail.   
When she stopped shaking he scooped an arm under her pressing his lips to hers softly. She whimpered and kissed back hard. He lifted her off the table and carried her to the couch.

“Fuck me Charon,” she breathed against his lips and the unintended order rolled through him deliciously for the first time since he could remember enjoying being ordered to do something. 

He resisted the urge, “I need you to know something first.”

She wriggled against him where he lay above her supporting himself with hands either side of her head. Her wet core slid against his rock hard cock and a groan rolled out of him. 

“What is it big guy?” she gripped his massive shoulders in her hands. 

“If we do this,” his chest heaved with the effort to keep from burying himself in her, “there can’t be anyone else. I can’t stand guard while you have any others. Don’t do that to me.” 

It was so raw and vulnerable it shocked Isadora into silence for a beat. His face buried into her neck to inhale her scent and press rough kisses to her throat to hide his nerves at being so truthful and baring himself to her like that. 

“I could never do that to you Charon,” she breathed into his ear, “you’re the only man I want.” 

He pulled back and looked at her seriously then, eyes locked together. His gaze was so intense her body quaked, again slipping her against his tortured cock dripping precome onto her stomach. 

“Tell me again what you want,” he almost sighed in relief, one arm working its way under her to grip the back of her head. 

She gave him a wicked grin, “Fuck me Charon.” 

She felt his shoulder muscles roll as he snapped his hips sharply against her. The swollen head of his cock found its way to her tight entrance and he slowly edged himself inside. Isadora threw her head back with a choked moan and an animalistic rumble came from deep in his chest. His member with all its unusual textures stroked her in ways she never knew existed, and his impressive girth had her stretched almost painfully. 

Her nails were digging into his flesh and he groaned against the feeling of her white hot core gripping him like a vice. It took everything in him not to come right then and there. Charon took a moment for a testing draw back and thrust that had his breath shuddering out of him. She moaned loudly as the rough exposed muscle on his abdomen ground against her clit. 

“I won’t last,” he gasped when an aftershock from her earlier climax trembled her body. 

She kissed the words away, dragging herself up with her hands on his shoulders to kiss him hard. It was maybe two or three nervous thrusts before he sped up, pace frenetic and no rhythm to it at all. 

“Oh my god Charon,” she sobbed against his lips as he got more wild with his movements. 

A choked groan came from between gritted teeth and he couldn’t hold it any longer. He bottomed out inside her roughly, and she cried his name like a scream at how full he had her. It was too much and not enough and like a hot blade through his abdomen he felt his balls tighten as he came like a firehose inside her. It seemed to go on forever, spilling himself in her wet heat with a series of grunts and growls into her mouth. 

She saw stars still from the feeling of his cock impaling her to the hilt. It would have been a cruel cosmic joke she supposed if her over 7 feet tall ghoul wasn’t at least reasonably endowed. 

He was ashamed at lasting so little time but the way her hands massaged his broad shoulders told him she thought nothing of it. Charon rested his forehead against hers as they both heaved for breath. His bulk on her felt all consuming and she loved every bit of it. He surrounded every one of her senses and she went to press her lips to the tip of his nose before remembering he didn’t have one. Unbothered, she just pressed further up and kissed the ridges of cartilage where it would have been. Every part of his face tasted of her and she blushed a little. 

“Wow.” She breathed.

He nodded his agreement, milky eyes searching hers dreamily.


End file.
